THE JOURNEY CONTINUES
And so I walked on in the Poetry Park.
Everyday cares passed away
And a sense of joyous euphoria washed over me
With the breath of each wind upon my face.
As I walked through a clump of trees,
My road disappeared and I entered a vast field
Of tall, beckoning grass calling to me.
The ground was muddy and used its power to hold onto me,
But I trudged on for what seemed an eternity.
Growing weary of travelling so far,
Though anxious to see what was to come.
Excitement overcame and the mud turned into hard clay.
I began to run through the field of tall grass,
Anxious to see what my imagination held in store for me.
I broke out of the field and found myself in front of an ancient house
And there was a wizened old man sitting in a rocking chair on the porch.
As I reached the bottom step
He walked to the edge and looked down at me
In my mud-covered shoes, old sweaty clothes
And dirt-smudged face.
His face held a hidden smile as he said,
I don't see many people come this way. Most turn back,
But I've been expecting you.
Me? I asked and he nodded once.
I've waited along time for you, he said.
Who are you? I asked as I sat on the first step.
I am the Poetry Park's caretaker.
But I have grown old now.
Mostly I just sit here and wait for people like you.
I've waited a long time for you, he repeated.
You know who I am? I asked as he sat back down in the rocker.
Yes, he answered with a sureness so firm.
The question is, do you?
The surprise must have shown on my face because he nodded
As if to repeat his question.
I looked in his face and was drawn into his eyes,
I felt something give away from the very center of my being
And it answered,
I am a poet.
He smiled then, a smile so dazzling it would light eternity.
He nodded again and then stood from his rocker, saying,
Well done, young poet.
Now it is time for you to return to your journey.
And then he went inside his house, leaving me alone on the porch
Contemplating just what my imagination held in store.
� Rosalia A. Hendrix