Where Lilacs Still Lean

For the paths once walked on Lincoln Street, and the trails that linger at 173, where memory bends beneath the trees, and time remembers what the heart still sees. _________________________ I walked again where lilacs lean, their branches heavy, soft, and green. The sidewalk cracked, the roots had grown, through all the years the house has known. The fence still tilts the way it did, where once we dared and once we hid, the gate that caught, the post that swayed, still keeping secrets time has made. Forsythia spilled across the trail, its ye…

My Rawlings Glove