at the corner of the old red barn,
on old pile of rocks,
taken from the garden every spring.
we'd walk behind, waiting for his big boots
to kick them up,
and pick them up in the white buckets that hurt my hand.
we added them to the pile,
they looked the same as the other rocks
encased in concrete that made the foundation.
the barn is gone, i think,
and the pile with it now,
but as i tilled the soil today for the first time,
my big shoes kicked up the stones,
and i began a new pile of rocks.