Craig Paulenich - RD1 South Pymatuning RD1 South Pymatuning by Craig Paulenich Smoke rolls across sleeping cornfields, beneath a bitter curl of moon yellow as gasoline. The barn is a swollen lump of flame, choked to the rafters with afternoon's hay. Everyone squints and stays back like dogs avoiding the stove. Firemen, oily in overcoats and boots, shout commands and lug muscular hoses glutted with water. Cattle gather in the yard by the front porch, or stumble along the quiet road, stunned by the headlights and the smell.
Grim farmers smoke, search the crowd for strange faces.
Along the perimeter of darkness, just beyond the tailights' glow, he has risen from the pavement like heat. In the firelight, each bead of sweat is an ember. He breathes in the stink of cattle invisible at the bottom of the barn. Her roaring leaves him tongue-tied. He sniffs the fingers that reek of fuel, and can barely keep from smiling, from crying aloud.