Poetry Magazine,John Plewe, March 2000

John Plewe

USA

Valley at Nightfall

To sun-blasted eyes, the low-ridged valley
unearthed and revealed its age.
The full grass ripped itself away from the earth,
dry air greedily drank the rivers and lake.
Ridges grew to mountains.
Depressions of life remained,
scratched with God's stick
on the empty earth.

To watery eyes, the low-ridged valley
concealed its secrets.
Tall grass intimated undiscovered trails.
Water held treasure, trees held houses.
Ridges softened to hills.
Expressions of the future
were caught in the motion of eyes.

"Is it true what they say, Grandpa,
about your eyes?
Do they really change color
with the wind?
They look very old,
like that tree in our yard
that's smashing our house."

The low-ridged valley
darkened a little.
A solemn gray wind
healed its wounds
and buried its secrets.

"Can you see the wind with those eyes?
I wish I could see it.
I can only hear it, and feel it,
like Mom humming
and rubbing my back at night.
Did your Mom used to rub your back?"

The low-ridged valley
descended to silence and sleep.
Grey wind grew
to brighten the night.

"I saw a bird that was old.
It looked at me weird and fell in a puddle
like it was getting a drink
and sleeping at the same time."

Sun-blasted eyes
half-closed with the sun,
saw youth through a veil of sleep.
Grey wind turned black.

"I thought it was funny, but
I left before it finished drinking.
I wanted to wait, but it took a long time,
and there was hot chocolate inside waiting for me."

Sun-blasted eyes
turned black with the wind.

"Maybe there's hot chocolate again tonight;
Can we go back and see? I'll race you!
One...two...three... go!"

Unseen wind hummed and rubbed,
and the low-ridged valley lowered its ridges.