-twilight time-

In search of the lost 

poetry of Quequechan

the sweetness of its early stage

the rainwater telling its history
on the summer street

the warmth of air over the puddles

the scent of metal in them—

the schoolyard’s drenched 

activity

the playground’s consumption

the pitch 

the stance the readiness

of the grip

the hunt for the girls 

who never ran for cover

who graced the intersections
who clung to our sides
against the odds

against the will of their fathers—

who moved better than anything
who dressed for the kill 
on Friday nights

the scent of Windsong

caressing their hair; 

the scent of metal in the water—

the stance, the readiness
in the grip—

the music and the slow-

shuffled movement of the dance.

                                  Columbus Park