Read More: A brief Q&A with Kelly R. Samuels
Where, Once, Stars Could Be Seen
Where Fauver Hill School stood is now all that tall grass
that seems always burnished, always of autumn.
I grieved the school when it was torn down
as I imagine I’ll grieve the grass when it is torn up.
Most everything out here looks nothing like it did
when I was a girl, when the one place to park a car
was at the outdoor theater with its battered screen.
We had to clamp the speaker to the window, then,
and, sometimes, when the movie did little for me
I’d get out and make my way to where stars
could be seen. This, where now there is Theater Rd
and talk of speed bumps to slow those going
with their long lists to the big box stores, and where
the lights from the car dealerships shine only
somewhat like moons. Sometime between when
all the development began and when they razed
the school, I stood and watched a man with his dog
in the one field left. There were the old gestures
of pitch and retrieval. It was near dusk and soon,
all bleared and I couldn’t make them out any longer.
Near the Field with Stephanie
We had driven up that way for a wedding
of someone none of us cared about—crossing
the river soon and then turning north
to where you said you came from.
In those hours between vows and dinner
you suggested we go to just beyond
the fence that marked your family’s property—
where the horses would be found grazing.
There was that kind of light photographers crave
and a yellow house up on the hill with a barn below.
You pointed and gave us the names of each horse
we could see. Told us which you preferred
to ride and which you loved like other people
love their dogs—stroking the ears of, cooing.
You leaned against the fence and looked out
as if over water—as if the horses were not as near
as they were, but rather ships on a set and distant
course carrying passengers you would never see again.
One of us grew bored and proposed we head for
the reception and you said Sure, yes, right. You stood
a minute more—not even calling to your favored one.
And then you turned.
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Kelly R. Samuels is the author of the full-length collection All the Time in the World (Kelsay Books) and two chapbooks: Words Some of Us Rarely Use and Zeena/Zenobia Speaks. She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee with work appearing in The Massachusetts Review, RHINO, Permafrost, The Pinch, and Salt Hill. She lives in the Upper Midwest.
Read More: A brief Q&A with Kelly R. Samuels