“the Lane”

originally written in the spring of 2014 for a class.

“I’m going for a walk,” I say

no one bothers to ask where

it’s quite obvious

the only place I’d go

down “the lane”

as it’s affectionately called

I walk past the barn, red paint peeling

doors I’ve only ever peeked through

it smelled musty and old,

one huff, one puff

it’d all fall down

I walk past the faded blue tractor

parked near that old abandoned house

my cousin once whispered, “It’s haunted!”

I laughed.

There’s the giant puddle I side step,

its chasm permanent

I trip over that damn tree root

jutting out of the uneven, dusty earth

dirt so soft it’s sand

My sandals surf on waves,

the wake of a century of tractors

cruising down this path

Once I sat here all afternoon

rock digging

I kept the rainbow one

certain it was worth millions

still in a wooden box my grandma gave me

somewhere

I look left, into dark woods and shrubbery

a border I’ve never crossed,

as if an invisible glass wall encased this exhibit,

preserving the dangerous conglomeration

of scrap metal, old lawn mowers, and chicken wire

peer deeper—more reverently

and tombstones appear

marking a car graveyard, with stories forgotten

but that particular one

always catches my eye

Mint green, its back tattooed in beautiful font

“a u t o m o b i l e”

it sits, dreaming of bygone days

Past these last artifacts,

the forest ends

as if afraid to venture on,

into the ferocious openness

with nothing to hide

or hide behind

I see, in the open

my grandad’s tractor

remembering when

I’m seven

and it’s rained for 40 days

I’m cold, drenched,

I don’t care about seeing

my grandad’s new Steiger

huge and bright green,

blooming

like a giant, neon bush

just past the lane

My brothers blaze ahead

and, I can’t be outdone,

so

through the thick, slick goop

one more step and I’m there

My boot goes on strike—

it stays suctioned behind—

I wobble and…

headfirst

fall!

with my leg in the air—

importantly keeping my one sock clean

I walk towards the aged tractor

sitting alone

mud couldn’t stop me now

but my shoes slide easily

over the wrinkled earth

I try, but can’t forget that winter

I’m 17, braving artic blasts

watching the snow

tucking the earth to sleep

not daring to leave the trees

not daring to leap the void

where the wind whips until

tears fall and freeze

Silently watching

the faded green Steiger,

still and unmoving

where my grandpa

last parked it

already a permanent fixture

a relic of the past

I’m 20, back from college,

visiting grandma, it hurts to say

just grandma

I’m taking I walk I say

no one bothers to ask where

I go down the lane

and stand where the vast land opens up

miles and miles of untamed sky

I fill my parched lungs with that cold, fresh air

hear the roar of the earth’s silence,

watch wind leaving footprints over the grass

Here where the forest ends, my world opens

it’s summer

a tractor’s in the field, windmills dance

I reach down and put some rich black dirt

in a jar

then turning,

walk back to the house