North of Hartford

Oh tobacco shed I never worked you
            or near you
only stood pretty close
            or down the road some
watched you breathe brilliant light
            into your thousand-ribbed maw
vent steam
into some August steam
through the lifted slats
over the shaded fields
gauze nets like shrouds
turned patches of Windsor into a tropic
baking the island workers as they plucked
weeds from around the precious weed
spirits wilted while the wilting leaves
draped from poles inside grew stronger.
It was a paradise without remorse that brewed poison—
a paradise I tell you, where the light was perfect
and the summer dust rose into it, just so.

Around the bend in trucks last week
the men with crowbars came to raze it—
for a good long time it had leaned
like a flower towards the light.

Original Publication – Euphony V. 12 No. 2 2012