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Winter/Spring 2016

Visitors

 

by Nels Hanson

 

Last week the horse stolen six months
ago came home, running happy circles
in the remembered barnyard. Yesterday
I found a good pair of pliers misplaced

some lost decade on a rafter in the shed.
We bought a gas stove and late afternoon
the man who delivered it was my childhood
friend I hadn’t seen in 40 years. Morning

a blue car drove in, the woman asking for
directions to our farm, to find me and say
once we were close. Later I opened valves
to irrigate and each iron T I turned I half

expected a rainbow trout to leap out as
once when my uncle farmed this place.
I have a feeling something’s coming or
about to leave or happened already

somewhere far that sent an echo, a silent
tune or rippling wave, odd breeze through
summer heat. It’s dinner time and when
a semi roars past on the paved road and

all the windows in the old house shake
I look up expecting someone knocking,
at each brittle pane a ghost I’ve forgotten
returned for food and water, for love.