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Thursday, July 6, 2006 03:22 am

american life in poetry

Poeples Poetry

Visiting a familiar and once dear place after a long absence can knock the words right out of us, and in this poem, Keith Althaus of Massachusetts observes this happening to someone else. I like the way he suggests, at the end, that it may take days before that silence heals over.
We drove through the gates into a maze of little roads, with speed bumps now, that circled a pavilion, field house, and ran past the playing fields and wound their way up to the cluster of wood and stone buildings of the school you went to once. The green was returning to the trees and lawn, the lake was still half-lidded with ice and blind in the middle. There was nobody around except a few cars in front of the administration. It must have been spring break. We left without ever getting out of the car. You were quiet that night, the next day, the way after heavy rain that the earth cannot absorb, the water lies in pools in unexpected places for days until it disappears.
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