The Neighborhood Block: An Odyssey

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THE NEIGHBORHOOD BLOCK: AN ODYSSEY 


Flies busy in the tender crook 

of a crow slow-cooked 

on the asphalt. Three water bottles,

dried, one crusted to the curb like an oyster shell.

We answered “well” to the neighbor

who wondered how we were, 

said nothing of the bird 

who nibbled at something tender

in us. Wet tires whispered

the long lament that words are 

far too-edged to utter,

and a dead leaf muttered

its assent. Left at Old Mission

and we found ourselves back at home, 

far from home and still miles as the crow flies

from having found ourselves.


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