Twenty-eight

Again I’m here and I don’t know if this

piece, this peace, this set of words, will end

up on a music stand at newzone studio

somewhere, someday down the road. And

we have been down the road before. The

road less traveled more and more by more

and more. Our road started before we knew

it had even begun.  The odds were against

us…well, at least the bets were suggested

against us, but we were going to become

more than a house, we would, ironically,

without ever buying (sigh) a house, we were

going to become a home.  A home full—a

homeful—a road full of houses we’d make

into our homes. The road itself back and

forth summer fall winter spring summer the

road itself a sort of home for a while.

Again here I’m sitting setting words in

motion, words emotion take me here and

over there to when and where we were. 

Last year I wrote an epic of our journey,

a year by year, give or take some details,

and then another year went by and, by

and by, we found another long string of

days stretching from then (and there) to

now (and here), so here you go…I hope

you like the flowers past today, past this

read, not quite poem, unless enough time

passes to leave leaves scattered on the

surface like those resting on the X’s

lying dormant underneath the willows 

down at the entrance, like so many X’s,

marking the many spots we’ve been

together. Cut through at the X’s taking

the boys on a walk, or for you to go to

work.  I remember the boys playing on

the X’s—how many kids could play on

X’s, and have no idea where they came

from?  Shed Meadows itself marked with

an X, centerfield, no less.  Almost as if it

had to be there…always was there.  X,

the primal signature…”Just put 

your X on the line” to seal the deal.  And

the deal was sealed a long time ago with

an X and an O, and many other letters in

between.  Letters to Europe and back,

letters arranged and rearranged on the

refrigerator, letters of thanks, and letters

scribbled on Christmas Eve.  And all the

letters were sealed with an X’s and O’s. 

The X marks the place where the O

circles around and around, and never

really stops except to leave an X, a

marker, a word, a letter, a poem, a piece,

a peace like this along the way, along the

road together traveled. X marks another

revolution ‘round the circle, the O,

another big hug that reaches another year

around, twenty-eight years around from

when we first met to this twenty-seventh

day in May, today, and tonight, and

tomorrow.  X’s and O’s will

mark the spot again.

May 27, 2006