A Creek That Runs Behind the Backyard

By @jeremyf

A Creek That Runs Behind the Backyard

By @jeremyf

I wrote a poem about a creek that runs behind my house, and the memories it conjures when I visit it in my mind.

Chapter 1


Out back

past the ruins of our reclaimed swings

a shy creek makes its nest

in a divot no thicker than a tear drop

and no longer than a bread basket

if at all.

In winter, there is no creek

only a thinly eroded patch

where the powder’s packed a little lower.

Out back

beyond the creek

brown stalks, of uprooted evergreens, lay in a shoddy pile.

Me and dad drag out another christmas pine 

everytime they outlive their use.

In the spring

when the rain brings life to the creek

And the weeds run up the slide

And the evergreens stay dead

And the oaks bloom with fire

I wonder why I never sat back there alone,

to confess.

I wonder why I never brought back the girl,

to impress.

I wonder why I never cried,

behind the sparse green wall.

But I built forts with sticks

And played soldier with Michael

And slaved atop campfires 

that popped your sinuses

with evergreen incense.

and I think it was enough.

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