Hallway to Nowhere

the question that I posed once long ago

what sky do you see and how do you know

stays with me still after all these years

he did not dismiss it not even then

sat down beside me and aimed his gaze with mine

so that we both looked upwards

Into the endless shimmer of a hot afternoon

the horizon melting into forever

time itself turned liquid by the burning sun

our shared silence hung heavy in the air

not rent even by a mosquito’s buzz

we shrugged and went inside for a cold drink

unwilling to climb such a high brick wall

in the humid weather of a Mississippi summer

we did not say goodbye

did not know this time to be the last

so we did not linger over tea

pausing between each sip

to look over the cup at each other

we did not let our hands clasp

even briefly as to register dear kinship

a touch of thanks for time spent deeply

a felt recognition of common ground

in the end this does not matter

the moments themselves have passed beyond

their taste their flavor their faint perfume

remain and I am grateful

I walked the fields with my father every year

learned the rise and fall of hills and fences

where the streams and rain would run

I knew the houses and the barns

the stories of who built them and burned them

why the one small cabin stood alone

I sat in warm kitchens with elderly neighbors

listened to their yarning of who what and where

marked their passing when they died and mourned

yet I knew these stories would die with me

though grafted into my very core

I’ve walked too lightly to leave much behind

only a few words collecting dust on the table

stark against a hiemal sky

moving slightly to whisper in the chill

words pulled up from roots almost dead

given only to the crows

whatever stories the fell birds fashion

fantasies of bark and pith and crawling things

are their concern and theirs alone

neither the branch upon which they sit

nor the tree of that branch

give regard to such things

the gift once given is in the wind

not the close quarters at the bar

the small confinement of the car

not the dinner crowd shoppers in a rush

no I know it happened thus

when I ventured outside the basement door

alone in the vastness of the cold morning air

overhead there flew one lone crow

black with a screech and a definite sly mien

who dropped a virus right into my path

my gifts were unacceptable it seems

and do you say “this is home”

placing your hand upon the door

so that it opens into the very room

where you have somehow left your heart

careless on the windowsill

or behind a lamp upon that table

it collects dust like every objet petit a

gets chipped edges and scrapes

will you leave it when you go