October 20, 2002

Drawn from Memory


From far away, a thin lazy ribbon of smoke
rises from our chimney, almost vertical,
then above the treetops, moves east,
sheared softly by a passing breath of air
that an hour ago hovered still over a pasture
up in the light, beyond the holler.

Bright air that flows serenely down into shadow
from the plateau above Middle Earth,
and carries our smoke like incense lightly to heaven.

I see the house, the smoke, through beginner's eyes
and its shape seems drawn in crayon by a child.
And I remember houses of children.

The four year old's house on lined paper drawn square
with a thick pencil, a triangle top, rectangular chimney
skewed obliquely, an odd curleyque of drawn smoke fixed above it
Why, children of cities, why the chimney with smoke?
How, from life in cities without curlycues?

Young child: Will your children's children
In cities for generations
Inherit through their crayons from your times and places
A drawn satellite dish
where the chimney used to be?


October 2002

Posted by fred1st at October 20, 2002 10:36 AM
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