there were flowers in the sill

of the farmhouse windows,

and the storm shutters

were still open for the evening

they left out the lemonade pitcher

and glasses on the porch

and the horseshoes

were strewn about the yard.

but the storm shutters

were still open for the evening.

into the morning they would remain.

but eventually they must go back

to the hard work of

protecting a thin pane.

and they creak when they close

groans, shouts, of agony

in their existence

they pray to jesus that they will

never be used again

but the clouds are moving quickly.

their yellow is peeling and

the rust on their screws

pinch them as they turn,

misinformed hands have moved

them from their rest

and they wait poised until

the light can pass through again,

solemnly they weather the tears

of rain.