Beyond the Plastic Pole.

The landlord called this morning

Said that she could tell I just woke up. To call her back later.


The cold was different to me, this late morning
Hazy, paired with rain
Drizzled, Murky, Heavy air that swept through the knit of my hoodie.


The branches lay next to the garage in a consecutively non-organized fashion, taken back by hand a few times

 To the old burning pile where I once roasted marshmallows on a stick.


The wheelbarrow was familiar in my grip.
Like an old family member that you never grew close to, until suddenly you found they were going away. 


I stood listening

To plastic-metal shingles on the roof play their xylophone tingles to the drips of water

And I looked back to the pine trees, where the land of our own stops.


Past where Vixen and Boots stay forever beyond my grasp beneath the dirt

And past the hole where I once buried a plastic time capsule of 3 weeks


I walked down the little mowed path, to that familiar plastic pole
One that I never found
Who had put it there.


And I saw the path through the forest had grown.


Still barely visible, but
but it was not what I had once romped through
those few times I pulled from the computer
and simply walked.


I knew the fallen tree over the gorge was still there
It couldn't have eroded that fast.


Time would only make it stronger, and I found comfort in that.


But the rain grew thicker
I needed to call the landlord


the apartment.


I didn't walk deeper into the place
Where I think I might've wanted to stay
If just to make the rest of my existence.


Stop rotating.


And I imagined myself, as I wheelbarrowed to the house,

Standing on the bridge of dead tree
as I let my converse
catch the wet wood in just the right way.


And wonder if the impact

would stop me.


ChildhoodConnor LannesForestMemoriesNostalgiaRainWoods

◄ The Somewhere: Bricks and Cement

Poetry is a Mediocre Diary ►


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Tue 21st Nov 2017 08:36

Great poem. Really well described Connor.

Jemima Jones

Sun 29th Oct 2017 19:36

really great read Connor.Thank you.Jemima.

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Martin Elder

Sun 29th Oct 2017 14:20

You caught m up with this from the start and just left me wanting more. Marvellous poem Connor

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