Wednesday, April 4, 2018

forgetting the stories

we lose the stories

today I chanced upon a rusted pipe,
exposed to the air where blowdowns
forced the trail twenty feet to the right,

I know why it’s there:
a college professor bought this land with its apple orchard,
built a house down by the creek,
well before electricity found its way here,

Professor Watson ran the pipe from the creek,
high above his house,
so that gravity would pull the water down it,
and he could have a flush toilet,

decades ago, we found the concrete box in the ground
which served as septic tank,
though it was years before we found out that was what it was,
when I am gone, that story will probably go with me,

imagine how many stories we lose
every time we lose a person.

by Henry H. Walker
April 1, ‘18

No comments: