#13

Gold

I was walking this morning on these same streets.
So tiny I was
on these same streets
around my mother's house.

At five, around the block I went
alone. For the first time in my life.
It was a grand adventure.
That first block alone.
They let me go.
They always did.
I rode the Big Wheels.

Coming up the hill
beneath the giant Horse Chestnut trees,
whose husks lay splitting and browning in the curb
some still shining and smooth as a sweet cheek,
I had to stop and rest.

They called to my small hands.
I collected them.
As many as would fit
into pockets
and hands
and into the hollow spaces
of the Big Wheels, of course.
Why? Who knows.
But one cannot pass up
such treasures
on their first adventure
around the block.

Gone now, many years, the great trees on the small hill.
But in the place where Chestnuts lay, acorns pile
smashed by passing cars
and some, still, all green and lathered cannot be left;
call now to,
day-soaked hands
for filling up of pockets
for bringing home of gold.

Llora H. Kressmann