Monday, November 1, 2010

Monday Morning Bootheel

I see the tall grasses springing up
between the ballast & wooden ties
as the railroad tracks
wind off into the distance
with a tin water tower
or a grain silo beside
and my heart pulls me

I know a quiet place
behind a house where
my great grandmother lived
put a penny on the tracks
and never found it again
but that didn't stop us
from looking
over and over
and I talk about it still

A bigger white house
with a wrap around porch
dominates the town
and dominates my mind
no longer in the family
but I know where
the box turtles hide
and old comic books
can be discovered
like hidden treasures
an olive drab duffel
hangs like a punching bag
dusty from the rafters
stuffed with
someone else's memories
it sways in a sunbeam
and in my mind

Why do I pine
for a place where
I never actually lived
only visited on holidays
and school breaks
but seemed magic
only good things
could happen here

The sound of early morning breakfast
and bad reception on late night TV
the taste of orange creamsicles
and the smell of fried bologna
all the old photographs
frame this in my mind
and in my heart
and I want to go
I want to go home



DAS

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