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The Trestle
Steve Meador


It was the perfect place for boys,
the trestle, the faltering remains
of stone columns that once supported
the steel beams and rails of the Blue Jay
Lumber Company Railway.

Stones worn smooth on the edges,
our own Sphinx slowly crumbling
to sand in the currents of Beaver Creek.
The velvety limestone tops served
as diving platforms, sun-tanning lounges
and classrooms, as older boys parted
the sea of confusion and led the young.

While others split the water
with nut-crushers, I pawed through
some shale, twisted it apart like an Oreo.
Inside was an immaculate black fern.
I cupped my hands over it and sniffed.
I wanted to taste the same air as the dinosaurs.

This poem first appeared in Loch Raven Review, Summer 2007 Issue.
Copyright by Steve Meador. Used with the author's permission.




Steve Meador is the author of three poetry collections and his work appears regularly in print and online journals. When he's not scribbling words or taking photographs, you can find him in Florida, working as a real estate broker. 




Post New Comment:
Wonderful, Steve. You take us to a totally unexpected place - the essence of good poetry.
Posted 09/10/2014 12:03 PM
Very nicely done! Excellent ending and images.
Posted 09/10/2014 10:50 AM
Yes, the last couple lines are perfect, and perfectly set up by the preceding ones. Nice.
Posted 09/10/2014 08:52 AM
Wilda Morris:
Ah, yes, the adventures and imagination of the young! And beautifully portrayed. I especially like "as older boys parted / the sea of confusion and led the young" and, of course, the ending.
Posted 09/10/2014 06:53 AM
Ross Kightly:
A wonderful poem that takes me thousands of miles and years away from and back to the same sort of experiences - though not the fossil fern - that is a wonder indeed!
Posted 09/10/2014 02:27 AM
I love the surprise ending and its creative imagination.
Posted 09/09/2014 11:32 PM

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