Newmarket VII

So, I wonder where that leaves me now.

I’m just sitting.

I suppose I’ve become boring.

You don’t have to listen to me.

But I swear I was once wild.

I’m pretty sure.

I had a different name.

I feel it deep down under the grey.

I know I was energy.

And now here I am.

Newmarket.

Newmarket VI

I used to be everything.

That’s how people found me—

a forest trail meeting flowing water.

Or thereabouts.

I was a part of everything.

Enjoying.

What did they used to call me?

I’m not sure there is anyone left

in the world

who knows my secret name.

Maybe nobody.

Maybe not even me.

People people people.

Where is my green belt?

It is hard to find anything around here

with so many people.

I think it is sunny.

If only I could see through this fog.

It smells funny.

I seem to recall the wind telling me

about a fog a long time ago,

when it came in traveling from the sun rising.

Wind never said anything about the smell,

about the way you have to breathe more

because one inhale just isn’t as filling as it once was.

I have the sense I used to travel more.

Maybe that’s not true.

My daughter goes all over in her SUV.

But things now seem confined.

Limits keep expanding into fields,

hoses and houses and houses,

but I’m more locked down than ever. 

Newmarket Part V

I’m pretty sure Newmarket

was a 1950’s housewife

turning to the woman next door

after surveying the farm houses,

rows of corn in the distance,

bungalows closer up,

sleepiness,

and asked

‘Gladys, was I always like this?

I seem to think I used to be a little more wild.

Maybe some deer and berry bushes

and water running on its own course.

I think perhaps, over time

I’ve lost my nature.

I think there used to be more life to me.

I’m not quite sure what happened.’

Newmarket—me—I would say this

before handing over a jello salad

walking towards the clothes line,

ready to do the starching.