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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4418 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention September Paul Lyons A mile exact beyond that curve, behind twin elms, the rock still sits, rounder perhaps of bottom, smoother on top. The elms, deep rooted and vined have grown to block my view. October’s end will raise the shade rain, soil and time have made. I am without the legs to make the trek. The trees were shorter once, each one planted to mark our births, the turned earth dark but flat against the horizon. Sweeping the porch or hanging wet sheets to dry our mother with her delphic eye could just spot the rock and so set the western edge beyond which lay the stars and rush of the gulf wash where we must turn. We would race, I and you, sailing to the gates of Troy, then back again, Ajax and Achilles. I have returned, unsettled in my mind the story of the stone unburied, alone to wait the Autumn’s raising of the blind; A month at most, to look between the trees to see if you remain along the shore beyond the rock. |
