Selling the Family Farm

The hole in my father’s field.
appeared overnight in the fallow field
where the sign post entered hard-packed ground.
From the highway side of the fence I see
weathervane falling, disoriented, all wind
into the widening gap.

Not one word.
The trailer tips over onto its shortest side,
funnelled into a sooty end.
Not one word so I could try.

This is entirely my fault line.
I will revisit this place in muttering dreams
black sheep unaware of black ink setting on paper:
the last pitched bale stamped “vendor’s copy”
The green I knew will be gasified into portable, unpotable green.
This queasy ground hides more than bones and septic tanks
And its not just coal and syn-gas stock
coming up.

~ Carol L. MacKay

Carol L. MacKay lives in Bawlf, AB. Her poems have appeared in The Fiddlehead, Antigonish Review, Prairie Journal, Lichen and in Threshold: An Anthology of Contemporary Writing from Alberta (U of A Press, 1999). Her poem collection “Othala” was shortlisted for the 2004 CBC Literary Awards. She also writes for children.

One Response to “Selling the Family Farm”

  1. Clever word play, crisp images. I enjoyed the mood and quiet reflection of this poem.

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