From the February Issue
Sandy Ridge Church
No church was near. Folks met in barns before
the hay was stacked and gave to have one built.
Hewers ripped by the shin, and gorged on chores,
till winter flew blankets and kept the wilt.
Singing through fields, they gathered by the brook.
Fast trout shied at their feet
as reverends plunged them till their bodies shook.
The church was walled from rocks that snagged
the plows in fields of wheat.
Bread drove the hands, in spurts of power roped,
to mix the lime and last the days to chisel.
From scaffold-planks, the valley’s backing scope
flew over grains and made the barnsides little.
Kevin O’Shea is currently completing Western Colorado State University’s MFA in poetry with an emphasis on versecraft. Since graduating from The College of New Jersey in 2007, he has studied poetry at New York’s 92nd Street Y Unterberg Poetry Center and at the West Chester Poetry Conference. His work has appeared in The New Criterion. He lives in Lambertville, New Jersey.