The
Walk Around
October, that first brisk day.
I need to keep moving,
especially in the shade
where cool shadows sink
the sidewalk, & shivering, I sink
with it. Even my flannel shirt
fails to warm the tremors
which bite from inside,
at the sinews. I step
into a sun-splayed stretch.
The cement slants, feeds the earth;
carpetgrass chews rough, broken edges;
weeds sprout from imprints of a child’s sneakers;
crisp maple leaves rattle;
musk scrolls up into the air.
On the other side of the lake,
a man stands by a tall pine.
For the first time in days,
I open my fists.
Sun in my palms, I crunch
through web after web of palmetto,
only to find him gone.
I kick a thick pine needle mat,
pitch nipping my senses.
My only comfort
is the branch arching over me
like some old man’s arm.
A red-eared slider pokes
its head from the algae.
Underbrush rustling, I look up
to see a denim jacket
weaving in and out of the foliage.
If I can just get to the other side,
I wish as the turtle dips down
beneath the surface, without a sound.