The Creek

This poem actually started with the last four lines. I was reading some Gary Soto poems and they just came to my head, and I turned and started working from the beginning.

I sit

Where I usually do

On the bank of the creek

Staring at the blue water,

Tinged brown,

Filled with stones.

The stream cuts its way

Through my backyard.

I think

About a lot of things

Some small and trivial

Some universal.

I sit and think with my knees curled

Against my chest.

Harvard T-shirt

And my brother's jean shorts.


And thinking

And tossing

Stone after stone,

Stone after stone

Into the calm water.

I watch the ripples fade away

And think about how

We do the same.

Grow and fade

Into nothing.

Like ripples on the stream.

I stand

And turn,

Start to walk away,

And my shadow stretches behind me

As if wanting to stay.

The End

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