Emery
Dust from unpaved road
Billows like fast-motion brown ground clouds
As Robert drives by.
Pickup truck,
Blue heeler in the back,
A micro-nod of his cowboy hat–covered head as he passes
Sage-scent everywhere
Except winter time
Where it’s replaced with coal burning and pine.
And wood-burning.
And mountain-air crisp.
And silence.
Peaceful, lazy, cloudy Emery canal Carries its cache of leaves, and twigs And water skeeters
Out of town; never to be seen again Where does it go? I never did find out . . .
Sunday morning walks to church Why doesn’t Robert go? I never did find out . . . But the crunch, crunch of unpaved roads Keeps me company As I walk the arrow-straight path To comfort and peace Otherwise known as the Emery Ward
October morning bus stop
Standing still and cold on an unpaved road
Until it’s my turn for the orange folding door to squeak open for me. Bread-slice-shaped green vinyl covered seat backs
Never feel quite comfortable enough
For a 62-minute and 38-second bus ride
From one end of the county to the other
Weaving through unpaved roads
Peach Days dances,
24th of July celebrations overshadow that other holiday Twenty days earlier.
The 4th is just a warm up
For the real celebration,
With its ball-field pancake breakfast,
And afternoon 8-float parade
Winding all the way from Eldred’s Grocery
Down Hwy 20
And wrapping up on an unpaved road at the ballpark Such an amazing 17-minute procession!
And one float threw candy!
So Robert grows older
The bleachers at the ballpark give more and more splinters. How does a town physically shrink?
Defying the law of physics, somehow it does.
And the world is so much bigger—
Growing exponentially as I age
Pulling me
Rear view mirror:
fast-motion brown ground clouds From unpaved roads . . .
Wave goodbye.