Summer's End Party - Pitchin' Horseshoes

"Listen"
by Claudia Emerson

Some of your buddies might come around for a couple of beers and a game, but most evenings, you pitched horseshoes alone. I washed up the dishes or watered the garden to the thudding sound of the horseshoe in the pit, or the practiced ring of metal against metal, after the silent arc - end over end. That last summer, you played a seamless, unscored game against yourself. Or nightfalling. Or coming in the house. You were good at it. From the porch I watched you become shadowless, then featureless, until I knew you couldn't see either, and still the dusk rang out, your aim that easy; between the iron stakes you had driven into the hard earth yourself, you paced back and forth as if there were a decision to make, and you were the one to make it.