Читать книгу Local News from Someplace Else - Marjorie Maddox - Страница 8

And maybe when you arrive—

stumbling up the cracked path

thick with hopscotch chalk and weeds—

a stranger will answer the door,

insist you’re no longer on Elm,

that this is not your home.

Autumn will well up, swell in the gutters

you cleaned every year since twelve,

spill into the color of a landscape

you can’t see but feel,

bricks untwining, ivy crumbling,

smoke unbraiding from clouds.

Maybe then you will turn

away from the echo of a knock

back into your own life,

away from my picket-fence memory,

framed still in this dilapidated doorway,

wondering who you are.