Fertile Ground by Michael Ceraolo

Fertile Ground

The seeds of this poem were sown long ago,
though it took years for me to realize it
When I was old enough to walk to school by myself,
either in second or third grade
(there were two or three streets to cross
without benefit of crossing guards),
there was the prescribed way to go,
and I usually went that way
But not always
                         Sometimes I would walk
one,
         two,
                 or even three
streets out of the way to make it a different way,
arriving at school late on those days
I would look to see if anything was different
on any of those other streets
I didn't notice a whole lot different:
the sidewalks were a similar mix
of concrete blocks and slabs of the local bluestone;
the houses were mostly the same
and the roads were similarly paved,
though on two of the streets it seemed
that there were a few more taller trees

These occasional excursions
led to further explorations,
this time on non-school days
There was another street
where the newer section of the paved road ended:
there were houses only on the east side;
there were woods on the west side
where the sidewalk ended,
                                        and
I would explore the woods all the way
back to where they butted up against
the fenced-in gold course
                                        And
even back then I was glad I had,
                                                 for
in a few years the road was extended again,
the woods torn down,
                                and new homes built

I am still exploring the area,
and noting the changes

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