No one we knew had climbed the old grain silo in our town.
Hands clinging to rusty metal, I rose
Up and up with my cousin
The cold air biting our skin
Watching the ground below us get farther and farther away
of grass and packed dirt.
We would slip up once or twice,
my cousin’s leg kicking out from its hold
My clammy hand losing grip.
We climbed up and up,
feeling hundreds of feet tall.
hearts beating fast against the ladder.
She got up first, hoisting herself onto the platform
I followed, carefully manoeuvring onto the
creaky metal. We had done it.

It was right in front of us- the sprawling grass fields
peppered with barns and houses and the occasional tractor
spreading like a flood into the forest.

My cousin nudged me, pointing at the house
whose property the silo sat on.
A tiny man opened the door, walking all the way
until he was right below us.

We laid, bellies flush against the metal
Barely daring to breathe.
I tried to remember who’s idea it was to climb this thing,
who wanted it first.
It was me.

Squeezing my eyes shut,
I heard his steps retreat.
We waited for what seemed like hours to get down
And silently promised to never go back.

Now, the silo sits there, fully abandoned,
Inhabited by a barn owl,
Cooing echoing through it-
What was once a dare has become a home.