Our Old Place by Carol L. Skolnick Come on back; I'll show you Where eggplants once hung Like pendulous purple breasts And rodents sampled bumpy tubers Beneath the weedy soil Here's where children ate and splashed and ran Where grasses were burnt and bleached By smoldering cigarettes and the sun Where it would still smell of animal spores Would still be tunnelled by teems of segmented slimers Still be nourished by caring hands and sharp tools That dug and weeded and planted seed And left bits of bread and fat for visitors Feathered and furry, who came to dine. There's black tarmac now and stone cement No life now, no children or birds or beasts, No insects, trees, or flowers, and no hope of growth But I still see our old place As it sprung up from the minerals And rot and heat of the earth's womb Its shrieks of life as it emerged green And wet and sucking rain And how it offered nourishment as it matured And smelled of feces and sex and its ultimate death. c2001 by Carol L. Skolnick
Music is "Exile" by Enya
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