Nora Flynn: “Grass”

NORA FLYNN

Grass

Cement and brick Dead leaves crack under my weary feet My shoes scuff along the cracked sidewalk Where there once was grass

The sidewalk in the city is narrow It smells of gas and rain A wilted maple hangs under the dusty sky A cigarette butt at its base Where there once was grass

A field of corn, young, green and tall Waves before me Before it is stripped from its stalk To be sold Now brown husks lay on the dirt Where there once was grass

A field is full of tiny men The white and red of the flag wave in the wind against the blue An endless roar arises as jets fly overhead Filling the air with smoke and remembrance Its sickly sweet fumes descend upon the crowd I cough The metal bleachers clang as I move away Towards where there once was grass

The fluorescent lights blind me The store is filled with shiny mounds of colored fruits They topple from their stands like dropped beads They stop rolling against my feet On cold plastic tile Where there once was grass

There is fog and quiet My car would hum as it rolled along the road It stopped The air is cool and clear The smell of salt is sharp

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Tiny pieces of history moved beneath me as I walked towards the empty ocean There is no grass here There never was There is only rock and salt and water It no longer smells of salt It smells of gas And fish There are bottle caps and plastic knives Boats line the horizon The ocean is full A crowded picnic area stretches to the water I walk over the bright green turf, the plastic bits sticking to my toes There is grass here

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