R. A. DavisTreasure
Treasure
for Patricia Messina
Hell's a small town of empty schoolyards.
No bicycles careen around corners,
no afternoon noises from the yard
except birdsong so faint
it might be memory
and the creak of thick hemp
that hangs an old truck tire
unoccupied
swaying in a slow breeze.
And down by the pond
uncaught frogs
and perpetually
undisturbed lilies.
No scraped knees,
or 'finish your peas'.
And no one at night
to read stories to
except ourselves.
Before a dreamless sleep
we bookmark the same page
we read yesterday
and will read again tomorrow.
Heaven's a vast universe where,
when any child laughs
all the grownups smile,
and any time a child cries
the rest of us drop what we're doing
and move to the sound.
This place is in between.
At the end of every buy-and-sell
keep-your-guard-up day,
among the faces you've seen,
you found in so few
that the kid they once were
still lives
just behind the eyes
who no longer pesters frogs
or plunders lilies,
but always leaves a few peas
on the dinner plate
an old habit, I suppose,
or maybe it's a small green spell
cast to keep a bicycle called Time
from careening riderless around the corner.
No bicycles careen around corners,
no afternoon noises from the yard
except birdsong so faint
it might be memory
and the creak of thick hemp
that hangs an old truck tire
unoccupied
swaying in a slow breeze.
And down by the pond
uncaught frogs
and perpetually
undisturbed lilies.
No scraped knees,
or 'finish your peas'.
And no one at night
to read stories to
except ourselves.
Before a dreamless sleep
we bookmark the same page
we read yesterday
and will read again tomorrow.
Heaven's a vast universe where,
when any child laughs
all the grownups smile,
and any time a child cries
the rest of us drop what we're doing
and move to the sound.
This place is in between.
At the end of every buy-and-sell
keep-your-guard-up day,
among the faces you've seen,
you found in so few
that the kid they once were
still lives
just behind the eyes
who no longer pesters frogs
or plunders lilies,
but always leaves a few peas
on the dinner plate
an old habit, I suppose,
or maybe it's a small green spell
cast to keep a bicycle called Time
from careening riderless around the corner.
© R.A.Davis, 2009
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