Marking My Footprints
While listening to my footsteps rap
I stumble: tiny boughs whip these cheeks
until my eyes catch a glimpse
of our old cabin tilting ahead,
like a barren woman in quiet dignity.
The field's gopher darts through an exit
with such eerie silence, jolting my city bones.
Alarmed, I peer into this space of time
that has forgotten me--- the drying weeds,
rough cobblestone, tattered panes...
and how the wind whistles through
this ancient dwelling's cracks
asking me to leave, depart, get out.
Maybe, the seasons and moons
from yesteryears do not remember
the prints marked by teenhood games.
Pacing my riddled strides, I become aware
I am not needed here--- not for a long while.
Fate's Footfalls Contest for John Lawless
3/13/2018
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2018
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