More from the wayback machine. I'm on a trip down memory lane.
Autumn draws me across fields
in rubber boots and old jeans
to a maple on the edge of a hill
Under a similar tree, engraved in granite,
the name of a man who was
supposed to live forever
But on this one, how did I miss it
a single board grown green with lichen and moss,
the limb spiked with nails bent and rusted
Who was this boy, called home
through these same fields
and this creek,
across the years
The bark is rough on my cheek
but hope is here with summer dying
and love is nothing more than a barefoot boy
in overalls, with a hammer
and a mouth like mine
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I had boards in trees like that. Oh this one is good. A mouth like mine.
ReplyDelete"but hope is here with summer dying . . ." Beautiful, M.
ReplyDeleteand a mouth like mine. Sigh.
ReplyDeleteYes. What they all said.
ReplyDeleteI wish I had a wayback machine! This is lovely.
ReplyDelete