Where I’m From, Marilla Park

BY MARK BRAZAITIS

Three, four, five of us
Come here twice a week
To build and mend trails
Pathways to a pool, a playground, tennis courts
But to, and for most who come this way
An end and a meandering means, both
We swing polaskis, slide shovels into dirt
To level tilted ground
Spread woodchips to turn surfaces soft
For running shoes and boots
For bicycle tires and dogs paws.
Saw the trunks of fallen cedars into steps
Which descend from the wood’s east end.
A staircase to the splendor and starkness of the seasons
Our true state motto
Wild, wonderful, and wounded.
Our mountains beheaded
Our bedrock fractured
Our rivers poisoned with misconceptions of progress
Our work here is a way to hope
We come to these woods to see-
what can be
What must be
If we are still to be