His Midnight Flight
by John M. Davis



Night
piled up
against our house;
a black blizzard blanketed the farm.
Upstairs, my sister and I watched the barn,
its cavernous mouth thrown open:

light set against a gathering wind,
as whistling rose against battered boards.
Mother’s pacing and creaking wooden floors
fed our fears, kept us from sleep.





Illya's Honey Literary Journal

Copyright © by Dallas Poets Community. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.