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| Foundation of House near Kings River |
For Sylvia
Some places have the significance of a
dream
that surfaces again after many decades,
like the foundation of the house in the
flood plain
of the Kings River. Oaks have grown
where the floor
used to be, and brambles, on one side,
have conquered
the concrete broken up by roots. When I
was twelve, I chased
my brother through oaks and pines
beyond a sandy beach
where our father was fishing and
discovered
the foundation of the mansion next to
the river. After I
inched like a tight-rope walker on the
unbroken concrete
of the foundation, leaping across
spaces where doors
had once stood, I stopped in front of
broken, tilted chunks,
disappointed that I could go no
further. My brother
dashed away, ditching me again, but I
remained,
alone, confused and fascinated.
Suddenly
I heard a male voice state that I would
be back
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| Foundation Broken Up by Roots |
in thirty-five years. I couldn't tell
if the voice
was in my head or if it came from
somewhere
nearby. I searched, but I couldn't see
anyone.
The voice terrified me, but like so
much in childhood,
I eventually forgot about it.
Thirty-five years later,
I was driving on the narrow road along
the Kings River
and happened to look down at the exact
moment
when the foundation was visible through
the trees
in the floodplain below; if I had looked down a
second
before or after, I would have missed it. I
pulled the car over
and hiked down to the foundation,
retracing my steps
along the low concrete wall. When I
reached
the broken concrete, I waited to hear
the voice
again. Why had I come back? Nothing.
What
has survived the past thirty-five years
is my love for you and our children,
the oaks towering over the foundation,
the brambles still flowing
over the broken concrete.
