Hobble Creek Review
| David Wright |
A Famous Artist was Born on this Street
You never wondered about neighborhood history
until now. Though your questions disconnect,
you can trace them here to the end of the block
where you sense the same azaleas, feel the sun's
slow teeth sink into your bare arms. And you hear
a mower. This she may not have recognized,
but she would know the silent space around
a door's slam or a ridiculous small dog
barking to save her owner's screened in world.
In the tiny lawn of silence after the mower stops
and before something else, the girl, then the woman
would recognize how plain as a statue an afternoon
might stand, light unnoticed until a moment when,
for reasons not planned by any power, a gaze brings
curves and careful cuts to life. A decision was made here,
well before it was known by anyone as a choice:
I will invent a color from dusk and sand.
Red maple seeds stain the sidewalk.
Bushes knot and crowd the block's end.
Some version of your own choosing could appear,
or you may merely love glimpses of brick
bungalows in squat rows; you may be pleased
by these cliched scents of cut grass. You may
figure the solid past, this smooth cement
street marker and its corroded metal sign.
You never wondered about neighborhood history
until now. Though your questions disconnect,
you can trace them here to the end of the block
where you sense the same azaleas, feel the sun's
slow teeth sink into your bare arms. And you hear
a mower. This she may not have recognized,
but she would know the silent space around
a door's slam or a ridiculous small dog
barking to save her owner's screened in world.
In the tiny lawn of silence after the mower stops
and before something else, the girl, then the woman
would recognize how plain as a statue an afternoon
might stand, light unnoticed until a moment when,
for reasons not planned by any power, a gaze brings
curves and careful cuts to life. A decision was made here,
well before it was known by anyone as a choice:
I will invent a color from dusk and sand.
Red maple seeds stain the sidewalk.
Bushes knot and crowd the block's end.
Some version of your own choosing could appear,
or you may merely love glimpses of brick
bungalows in squat rows; you may be pleased
by these cliched scents of cut grass. You may
figure the solid past, this smooth cement
street marker and its corroded metal sign.
David Wright and his family recently returned to live in Central Illinois
after several years in the Chicago area. Since 2001, he has taught writing
and literature at Wheaton College. His poetry, essays and reviews have
apppeared in print and online in Artful Dodge, Anon, The New Pantagruel,
The Christian Century, The Nimble Spirit Review, The Avatar Review, and
The Midwest Quarterly, among many others.
after several years in the Chicago area. Since 2001, he has taught writing
and literature at Wheaton College. His poetry, essays and reviews have
apppeared in print and online in Artful Dodge, Anon, The New Pantagruel,
The Christian Century, The Nimble Spirit Review, The Avatar Review, and
The Midwest Quarterly, among many others.
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