MY HUSBAND ASKS ~ after Todd Dillard how do you write a poem? and I hand him a stick. His eyes ask the question. It's a poem, I say and suddenly the air smells like straw and manure, earth and animal. My sister and I stand just inside the barn, the raccoon I nearly touched hissing at us. Even at ten and eight we knew wild creatures could not be near our farm animals. My sister and I, scarecrow-thin and dust-covered, ran to find our father. We expected him to get his gun. We w