Sunday, April 13, 2008

Bradford Pears

blooming, announcing
remind me of home
the one I can't return to
Atchison Road
where spring was an artisan;
lending its hand
to suburban midwest.
Atchison Road
where I didn't try to carry
the world on my back
because I didn't know
much
beyond my yard my woods my neighbors

And sometimes
on cloudy spring days in the city
the colors seem to
pop
and my heart is grateful for this town--
how beauty is different and deep here.
and yet I long
for my house upon a little hill
and the times when i could always
breathe
deeply.

5 comments:

dee said...

Kristen....did you write that? It speaks to a very familiar place in me. That was beautiful, whether you wrote it or not. Thank you for posting.

Katy said...

I love poetry more than I ever have before when you write it. It becomes so much more real...I can almost feel your short breathing and that weight that you're carrying. thanks for being committed to writing.

shannon akers said...

boss.

Anonymous said...

boss.

er.

Jenna said...

My heart hurts with yours over your house on a little hill on Atchison Road.

I remember driving home (to another house on a little hill on Jeanne Dr.) from your Atchison Road home, listening to Desire, and crying because you were leaving the summer and Ohio and heading to New York.

I love and miss you.