The Stone I Took
I was driving somewhere, past the part of Massachusetts where maps just get tired and give up - Otis, maybe, or a town pretending to be Otis because it liked the sound of the name.
The Bench Under the Apple Tree
We made a bench one smoky day When clouds hung low and woodsmoke stayed, To sit beneath the apple tree Out front, at Boulevard and Street.
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.
The Old Home Streets
On ol' Lincoln Street I’ve often thought if I could go, Down Lincoln Street the old folks know, I’d find again that battered door, The cracked front step, the maple floor.
The Creak of Settling Bones
The house leaned toward us, already tired of standing. The door stayed open as if it had learned not to expect anyone.
Three Poems of Morning Theology
A Linus-Monster Triptych (from The House on Boulevard and Street) Preface Every morning, a sermon of paws and play.
The Mystery on the Driveway
The motorcycles rounded a bend in the road and before the boys lay a wide stretch of open highway, descending in a gradual slope. To their right lay Barmet Bay, sparkling in the afternoon sun. At the bottom of the slope was a grassy expanse that opened out on the beach, the road at this point being only a few feet above the sea level. The little meadow was a favorite parking place for motorists, as their cars could regain the road easily. - Hardy Boys, The Shore Road Mystery
Something Wicked to Lincoln Street Comes
Both touched toward fourteen; it almost trembled in their hands. And that was the October week when they grew up overnight, and were never so young any more. - Something Wicked This Way Comes, Ray Bradbury The book was a door that winter.
