Saturday, January 8, 2011

The Rock

Through the lawn between the flower beds

To the summer house

Stone tea house with its winged roof

And open windows

There I sat imagining I was a gypsy

In the woods, my horse somewhere grazing

There I would have the fireplace

And there, my bed and table

There the shelves for food and clothes

Maybe one box for sheets and blankets

I had it all figured out back then

And beyond, just over the fence

Our rock sat half as high as a man and wide as a bed

At the top of the field

Surrounded by tall grass

Climbing up on the rock

My brother and I would sit and dream

Looking down the hill all the way down

To the road, to the trickling stream

That elsewhere was a river or a tumbling falls

We’d talk of who we were in our past lives

He was a prince in one life,

A blue djinn in another

I was a fairy nestled in my flying bubble

That made all the world look magical

The waving grass surrounded us like a sea

Caressed by the warm wind

Our rock where we could always

Tell the truth.


Anonymous said...

Love this one, Laura. Beautiful. Somehow makes me think of a touchstone

Stirling Davenport said...

Thanks. It really is a touchstone. And also being so big and solid, a sense of being held by the earth.