The hedgerow fronting my grandfather’s house
made a perfect hurdle which he scolded me for using,
but which I did whenever I thought he wasn’t looking,
but he seemed always to be looking 
so I was
always hurdling and he ever accusing

The field behind our house on Oak
was wider than the a continent,
it’s climbing tree tallest, its high blue
spread wider than a prairie sky—

we’d spend days there taking everything
the place would give us, gifts of high grass
and its rich underside with every
creeping crawling resident

They were days that would expand us
when roots were sent and dies cast
in hours that would mark and brand us:
make us bigger, smaller, straight or bent


by Jim Culleny

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