Thursday, August 9, 2018

Summer Dying

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 


  1. I had boards in trees like that. Oh this one is good. A mouth like mine.

  2. "but hope is here with summer dying . . ." Beautiful, M.

  3. I wish I had a wayback machine! This is lovely.


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