While Trespassing I Note the Sadness of Old Fences

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While Trespassing I Note the Sadness of Old Fences

I write poems when I can,
in late morning or during

the afternoon, between chores
but before dinner. And sometimes

I duck through spaces
void of wire barbs, and consider

how to fill the incomplete, which words,
what materials could repair

those particular holes. I cut my own
fence once, to access our house

when the creek flooded the road,
lugging uphill through the snake

grass a jug of scotch, my mandolin
and a watermelon, essentials for a weekend’s

respite. To be truthful I cut only the lowest
strand, to help the dog get through — I

was able to climb over, but he couldn’t dig
through the limestone rubble to wriggle

under, and we’d come too far
to simply turn around.

 

* * *

This appeared in riverSedge, Volume 29, Issue 1, released in October 2016. I first encountered riverSedge in 1983, and vowed that one day my poetry would be published in this journal. It took a while…

 

14 thoughts on “While Trespassing I Note the Sadness of Old Fences”

  6. Much in this poem tempts my brain to wander (perhaps trespass?) I’ve seen old fences “sadly” in need of repair … everywhere from pastures to residential areas! Maybe what those fences really want is the embrace of a dog? If I were an old fence, I’d part a few strands for such.

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  7. Pingback: While Trespassing I Note the Sadness of Old Fences – Kalitheni Ya Angombe blog

  8. Pingback: While Trespassing I Note the Sadness of Old Fences — O at the Edges – burndoubtstar

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