Whipsaw

A farmhouse sits somewhere in a field
& I imagine stories
Hung on the clothesline
Clipped together with wooden dowels
Empty down the middle

Like my grandmother before me
And her mother before her

Between baking cakes
They both paint in oils
Cigarettes lit
Talk out of the corners of their mouths
Absent-minded delivery
Deliberately mixing

Their own versions of cocktails

Letting go for a moment

A rooster breaks the silence

Imaginary Farmhouse 2020

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