Out of the Blue
-Joy Stalvey Barefoot

Driving down the country road,
I was awakened to an epiphany,
when there appeared before me
an old, worn fence post.

That corner post
was like my grandmother,
standing strong and pulling it all together.
Although the barbs dug in,
the line cutting deeper into her core,
ripping and tearing at pieces of her,
robbing her of the person she was
and what she meant to be.

The fence still held.

Frayed and mended lines
revealed the stress of holding.
Rust had eaten away at it,
but the fence held
That corner post
leaned slightly
bent forward;
pulling the lines
closer and closer
as it leaned,

but the fence held.