rivercrow

Bricks

February 20th, 2006 by rivercrow

With ease she laid
these bricks lying
between us.
The path runs straight
from house to tree.
The string along
which she set the pavers
hummed as she brushed it,
but the course stayed true.
One end of the guide
was screwed deep to the
house’s foundation;
the other, sunk solidly
into the ground.
She’d driven
the stake through the
snarl of roots
at the foot
of the dead loblolly pine.
Her back bowed
under the weight
of her labor,
each brick received a
calloused caress.
I left her to
rest in the shade
of pine needles,
where the clay
dust swirled
and the guide
wire hummed.

This thing started differently and had a point, but the image evolved. A wall became a path, the tree died, and a waking dream suffused it.

Loblolly pines grow to a hundred feet and have extensive lateral root systems, but do not have deep taproots. The lateral roots can be very shallow. Loblollies on the playground at elementary school had a number of thick above-ground roots that we would play in, sometimes making walls and structures using the roots of adjacent trees as foundations and carving burrows for ourselves in the lea side. Loblollies also are prone to a type of rust that makes the tree look as though it is bleeding.

I’ve been fascinated by paths in gardens for some time. Usually, paths are circuitous, but they don’t go anywhere. Why is this any more aesthetic than a path straight from house to tree? A well-laid straight path is just as lovely, and it has a beginning and end point.

Who are the people? Who is “us”?I think I’m speaking of myself regardless. I tend to leave a part of my mind working on the mundanities (building a path) and let my concentration wander; I let myself “to rest in the shade” after the struggle (I tried “toil” instead of “rest” and it was wrong). Or, do I have an inclination to kill off this more prosaic part of me, the part that builds pointless paths so diligently?

In the end, the image and sensory aspects are really more important. The meaning is secondary. Make of it as you will.

Posted in My Poetry |