Not many people know
where the old road goes
I’m older now and it seems
there are more and more
paved roads
that lead to nowhere —
most of the time
As a kid, living miles up
a rough potholed,
country road — a hike away
from the edge a small town
out in the sticks,..
you come to know onliness,
blind to a journey alone
I never stepped on
cracks in a town sidewalk —
never learned what
"superstitious" was,
like the other kids
from town
It wasn't the cracks
in the sidewalk
I feared to tread;
steppin' on 'em breaks nothing
already broken —
It was just all so different
than the long walk home
where that old road goes —
grandma always said:
*"follow the creek upstream;
it'll always lead you back
where you belong"*
The washboards
in the steep narrow road
up the hill, were like
muddy stair steps
in the rainy season
Sometimes I followed
on up the creek below
to the upper log bridge
swimmin' hole,..
where I learned to listen
to the sweet melody
of unclouded days;
and for a moment
I thought I belonged
I still haven't
found my way out
of this memory
I’m holding onto —
because life is just
an unstoppable
season, passing by
on its own;
like the way
rainwater
in the swollen
creek bed flows:
And I'm just
another passing September
no one will remember —
most of the time
Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018