(about 1992)
I used to dream sometimes
about our gully.
I heard the rooster crow one day,
and inquiring, found it came
from our gully.
It was close by-
I could pedal there,
if I wanted.
But I didn't really know
how close it was,
until a friend moved in--
her backyard with no fences
overhanging the huge valley
we called the gully.
I thought somebody owned it
but she said it was safe.
We only journeyed once
down the steep embankment
to see
horses grazing--
their manes waving with the wind,
a swimming pool
calling to us on that sweaty day.
We found a bottomless pond
and looked for lilly pads
and enchanted frogs
while her brother caught tadpoles.
And we saw as we headed back
the old cement club-houses
spray-painted with words of shunted kids,
so I looked away-- they were scary.
We ran to the dusty hill,
scrambled to the top,
and turned around.
It seemed the whole world
was before us.
It was after that
I dreamed I was a farmer
and I lived
in the gully.
