Where I Went To Hide

The rusty barn was a thing that stood
At the edge of the back most of the yard
Propping up the sky.
It bordered the pasture that did not belong to us.

If anyone else ever visited it,
Then I never saw them.
Therefore it was only mine.

A dirt floor covered in wood chips,
A ladder to a second rotting floor,
No one interrupted.

The old green bus seat always sat
In the same place:
On the corner of Fredonia and Thrash Road
In East Texas
I owned my private kingdom.

No one could say
I was otherwise than I thought, and

I didn’t care if it rained
So loud. So very loud that the trees shivered.

Even the clouds are allowed to cry
Sometimes.