Chloe Clark How to Watch a Barn Fall Down

Pull over, because the air feels heavy and you think it is just the heat a last burst of summer but then notice the old building and think that it can’t possibly be swaying.

Take a few steps closer, smell something in the air—cut grass gone sweet with decay, hay aged into mold.

Remember a childhood dream of standing at the very edge of a bottomless chasm, swaying, too close, but unable to step back, dream-frozen.

Listen to the creak and groan, wondering how long has the abandonment been, noticing the dull of the red paint, the cracks in windows.

Quickly close eyes at the moment of collapse, hoping to unspool memory’s film, rewind back to life and movement, a bustle and sway of work.

Drive away soon, take no second looks backwards, fearing the chance of turning to salt.