...the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life...

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

8. We Walk With the Kids After Dinner

Porch light on our left throws picket-fence 
shadows onto the sidewalk, an intangible 
ground-ladder we step on.
Our feet feel nothing but our own weight.
We pass on, and a tree has interposed
between the light and our shoes.
Concrete's the color of maple tree bark.
Another light, another fence, more shadows cast
a step-stone path leading to the next house.
Three stories, beige-painted, and recently made,
its bright red door means to blunt
its impositional prominence, 
as if to say, All in good fun! 
That’s how our kids were made,
all in good fun, but exactly when 
the silver spade broke earth at the hand 
of a hopeful, vain, dork-of-a-man, 
wearing Brooks Brothers and hard hat,
is hard to say. What I know: there's a shape 
to the world that wasn’t there before.
The bungalow this house replaced exists
in memory, weightless and impalpable
as the shadows back there that led us here.

No comments: