Yvi

Barn

She hit a boy
with a shovel
in a barn. She

saw nothing
but the math
of it. Ascent,
arc, intersect.

And the shapes:
triangle on oval
in a sun-drowned
pentagon.

A thing in motion
tends to stay. She
hit a boy. She
grew up to list

numbers in files
in pale rooms
full of dustless
air. She wears

nice clothes.
She wears
nice clothes.

-- Rachel Contreni Flynn