Cross this Bridge at a Walk
Frequently painted on arches
of covered bridges
The builder, driving the black Percherons,
hauls the gray wood from the fallen
round barn to the edge of the river.
Walking slowly behind, the son carries
oats in the bucket that lay, rusting,
next to the pump on the back porch.
The daughter throws the dishwater in the weeds,
then fixes the bread and butter sandwiches
she’ll take them for supper.
They don’t talk about the brown nail
that stuck through the Mother’s right hand
last Fall and locked her jaw for good.