The Grove Cracks

A poem about my hometown

If streets could hold memories, specifically “Grove”
When they cracked, would the scenes all replay in droves?

Showing all of us searching, on Thanksgiving day

When Orion, just 3, tried running away

Or my parents. And all of their counseling walks

With the newly wed couples, who just needed to talk

Our clever new shortcut to Ormandale school
Hopping on rocks over creek water cool.

Or the post dinner stroll, with the frisbee golf discs

Dad did get some stitches, so play at your own risk.

Then one night my brother ran naked, with shoes
Cause he couldn’t find a near porto to use.

Or the awkward midnight—DTR with a guy

“It’s just not gonna work,” we said with a sigh

My sister Marie loops round Georgia lane
To perfect her skilled care with the low vision cane

Those kids we look after as they ride on their bikes

And the elderly neighbors drink roast from the pikes.

Lined with flowers in spring, and leaves in the fall
Grove. That street, has secrets for all.

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