Barn, Well by Zebulon Huset

And yes, 
he seemed callous 
as he defeathered the dove
but not for the liquid 
that dripped or 
the pepper of bird-shot 
that felled the bird. He held 
his ground against me
despite clearly knowing 
he was wrong.

And yes, I 
was wrong to yell, and 
yes throwing 
the lantern 
was a poor choice.
One I’d forever 
tell myself 
was just
an accident.

And yes the barn
was dry that fall. 

And yes the dogs 
howled around
the fire 
in a half-bay-half-cry.

And yes, I wish
with every spare quarter 
I find in pocket
or gutter
for a time machine,
some elongated trip 
to the past to undo 
that arm motion. 

the well
has grown 
a fortune of silver 
off my regret.

Zebulon Huset is a teacher, writer and photographer. He won the Gulf Stream 2020 Summer Poetry Contest and his writing has appeared in Best New Poets, Bombfire, Texas Review, North American Review, Meridian, The Southern Review, Fence and many others. He publishes the prompt blog Notebooking Daily, and edits the journals Coastal Shelf and Sparked.