Fissures

By Alex Ward

I used to walk home from school

before they had to build the bigger school

because life then was brimming with

children and everything was a

Cat Stevens song

and you could run after the butterflies

and catch them

that neighborhood’s all grown up

in old trees now

but back then there was more sky

there was more sun

we kids rolled in the grass like

Jacobs wrestling angels

absolutely on a dead sidewalk with one

living autumn leaf and the

dark copse of the old

oaks behind me

old as George Washington

with roots three times deeper than

they are tall

or something like that

so, tell me what it is

maybe I’ll know what it is

when there’s dirt beneath my fingernails

as my fingers keep scrabbling for the

light

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Alex Rainey Ward is a poet, novelist and songwriter. He’s been published in Bateau, forklift, ohio, The Adirondack Review and many others. He divides his time between New Orleans and Minneapolis.