Undeveloped

 

This is where the house would have gone, 

if they'd expanded this direction.

Bulldozed, sun-dazed, gritty 

with suburban litter; leaves, paper bags, clay.

We come early, chain our bikes to the bars

of the metal fence by the coyote trail,

gathering what we can--feathers,

bones, Cheetos bags; and bring them here.

I stretch and grasp each one, asking 

for a journey that brings me

back to the houses I knew,

even if only to be poisoned by them.

This is where we would have lived.

This is where we would have seen

hawks wheel, mockingbirds scream,

and dewberry thickets turning green.

-- C. Sandlin, for The Sunday Muse