Capelthwaite Barn

By Deborah P. Kolodji

Mama wove tapestry tales
which hung in halls of memory
colorful threads after she died
when my brother was born.

Hiding in the bogie's barn
when the storm attacked the land
we hid from glowing eyes marching
burning in the shadows.

Lightening struck the roof
with a crash louder than thunder
and the shaggy dog shape
seemed larger than a cow.

Shifted into Mama's semblance,
it beckoned us close,
switching to a black mastiff
delivering us safely home.

Now I work the shuttle
weaving strands of my own story--
wooden barriers blown down
and lost sheep rounded up.