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Grains and Grains and Grains

Days before he would die, we stood waiting for the bus.
He was taunted by wild child-wolves. I stood behind him—
stared at his golden-grain head. Said nothing. Held my breath.

Little muscles, straight-faced, seething a quiet anger,
adopted and he knew it. Permanently hired for his tiny farm hands,
full of piss and grain. Golden freckles thrown across his nose.

He fell. Flat-fuck fell into that grain bin he worked to fill.
I pictured it all—his anger, dirty hands, grain-filled lungs.
Swimming in his own death. Silo pool, corn-sack lungs.

Sarah Miller Freehauf is the founding editor of Teenage Wasteland Review, an editorial assistant for Divedapper, and a reader for PANK. She received her MFA in Poetry & Social Justice from Antioch University, Los Angeles. She teaches high school English and Creative Writing in Indianapolis. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Offing, Lunch Ticket, The Manifest Station, Sage Hill Press, and elsewhere.

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