BRICK

When wild oats were over my head,
we would roll like logs downhill
while they made plans to build a home
looking at Sawtooth and the Kaweahs,
Homer’s Nose and Blue Ridge, up
at the sky and down upon the river.
I had hoped it would be red brick
to keep the wolves at bay.

It has to be hard for them now to see
us sell it, empty its contents, wrestle
with memories that slow us down.

From the last ridgeline, one might
imagine they see it all with perspective,
that giving-up the Sixties is necessary
now that we are old, holding close
to the river’s edge and its eddies
as it rises. Never beyond their reach,
I’m sure they recall that I wanted brick
to keep the wolves at bay.

2 responses to “BRICK

  1. (freaking love this poem!)

    Instead we live to love the wolves
    as they try to huff and puff us down
    learn the endurance of redwood pealing
    and granite under ground

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.