Part One
Ethel, you wouldn’t believe it,
I don’t even need your binoculars to see
The buffalo’s horns,
And the bear’s teeth.
But your binoculars can’t see
Through mountains
And concrete dams
To our Saturday morning visits
With hissing cats and white washed walls
And your eyes can’t see
Through hanging laundry
And power lines
To my morning visits with
Trumpeting elk and white water rafts
When I come home and tell you,
I won’t be whole anymore
Part Two
I went home
Not to our house
To our home
But it was gone
Nobody noticed
Playgrounds turned patios
Beaches turned deserts
But they were gone
And nobody noticed
Girl turned woman
Boy turned sailor
And Alex, nobody noticed
That we were gone