Old Field

[Atehequa]

The mist
Blanketing dew soaked grass
Asphalt and muddy shoulders
Early Monday morning, having nothing planned
Over the bridge and passing through West Point
A fine Autumn day to play hooky from work
Early December nearly as warm as late April
Traveling northwestward up old Route 30
Turning east on 360 at Central Garage
Windows open, the air flowing
Heading to Tappahannock.

Small town
Narrow street, mid morning rush
Diner, Breakfast, the time passing
Sausage, eggs over easy, not knowing a single soul
Unknown in this popular local roadside dining spot
Watching unfamiliar comings and goings
Eating out, I never like to dine alone
Pondering which road to take next
Undecided, my pulse quickens
Fond memories of Port Royal
Beside the Rappahannock

Old field
Someone else’s riverside land
Close to thirty years had passed
Three decades of memory fading allows rediscovery
Corn being harvested for several thousand Autumns
Once a huge community and ground farmed
The black flint and white quartzite points
I found laying in this field so long ago
Not picking up any stone relics today
And once again I began to wonder
Nansatico, or Susquehannock ?

Hand smoothed
Two black game stones on the ground
Half exposed in a bare patch of earth
Decades ago I found several of these stone disks
And an ancient quartzite blade and stone ax head
Shards of old clay poetry laying here and there
It was good to be in this old field again
Recalling my youth and earlier visits
Standing close enough to the woods
Attempting to absorb energy
Of the Quiyoughcosuck

[dadio]

Enjoyed this poem.