Monday, November 19, 2007

Driving Back to Kimesville

He wasn’t there.

Not that I expected him to be.

Driving east, I wanted to escape the interstate. I wanted to take the blue highway that ran through Kimesville.


I’d been there without stopping in 1975, for just one glimpse, one random moment while speeding past.

Thirty-two years later, I knew the fisherman I’d seen that day would be absent. No doubt, he’s long since died. His Kimesville is gone.

This Kimesville wasn’t exactly the place of my memory. It was quiet, save for water trickling over the ancient dam and cars hurtling past on the way to other places. Nobody fished from the lake.

Later, I found what I’d written to make sense of that first visit to Kimesville long ago.


Serene sacred sculpture,
The old man in Kimesville
Sat on the stone dam
And fished.

It was Saturday evening.
The sun was filthy.

I tried to imagine myself as
Water over the dam
The fish on the hook
Or the old man.

I could not.

I have it figured.
One million feet of scenery
Passed by my car this afternoon.
And what did I see?

I am mostly blind
And getting blinder.

Night comes on,
Light shrinking into stars,
With hopes of getting there
Somewhere behind me.

- August 30, 1975

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I live on this Lake an my wife has a website for the lake.

Take time to visit please and I like your work.