The Shoe Drops

Lanky preteen, you're old enough to be trusted
with the wilder corner of the farm,
with the old silo's abandoned temple.
Outside, rungs over rungs paradoxically thin
in the stack toward sky; inside, a tube toward heaven
measures emptiness beyond contemplation.

Best attend to the mission: search for new-born kittens
beneath a few board furnishings across the floor.
Step carefully, child; within the circle, be careful,
for life is fragile as kitten bones.
But a plank tilts beneath your feet,
and you look beneath, fearing,
vaguely, as you fear something
somehow crashing down.

The mother's eyes stare,
adrenaline-bright, from shadows.
Closer, the miniature kitten lies
nearly-bare belly up, flattened,
apparently, smashed.
 In the dimness you cannot
(will not?) know for sure.

Through years you wonder
how anyone can step lightly.