Off the grid

Several Midwestern cities are gridded. How else would we know which direction we're going? Or even where we've come from? I did live in Boston for a couple years. There they speak of streets being old cow paths. The main streets are unlabeled. If you belong there... you know what they are. I grew up on the grid. I am learning to make my own grid, reorienting myself by the sun.

I grew up

On the grid.

Streets were oriented

North and South,

East and West.

North South streets were named

In alphabetical order.

When the alphabet ended,

It began again.

East and west

Were numbered.

For numbered streets

There is no end.

Now I live on a one block lane

With curves.

I am forever getting mixed up.

I reorient myself daily

By the sun.

In truth

I have been off the grid

For years.

Now

The alphabet has way more

Than twenty six letters.

Now

I have completely lost faith

In numbers.

I am gridless.

I reorient daily

By the sun.

Inter-linkage

We arrived in Boston yesterday to look at colleges.  We are staying in a hotel in Cambridge.  Our room is on the 16th floor.  It overlooks the Charles River.  The rowers practice on the river.  All night I dreamed of churches.  Yesterday Jane Greenspan died in Cape Cod.  She was a pillar of St. Luke's and St. Margaret's (SLAM) before she died.  I dreamed all night of people coming and going.  I forgot this place feels like home.

Cambridge feels like home.

The rowers are rowing

On the Charles.

I remember I learned to kayak

Here.

News of people

I have not seen in years

Reminds me

Of our inter-linkage,

Our inter-lockage.

I dreamed a dream last night

Of the church I left,

Now closed.

It was filled with people

From other churches

I have served,

All in the process of leaving

And arriving.

They spoke about

Their travels,

Rowed up and down the Charles River

In teams.

They kayaked

Singly.

I awoke this morning

Found out one left us

Yesterday

From Cape Cod.

This place feels like home

Inter-locked

Inter-woven

Even the kayakers

Take their part

In the whole.

Tree blight

As I write this, the tree guys feed branches into wood shredders.  It is incredibly loud.  The ash tree in our backyard has been deemed treatable.  We will see. 

As I write this, Boston and the surrounding area is on lockdown for the Marathon bombers.  The bombers, maybe two, maybe three, are mostly marked with orange Xs.

We live on a street

With ash trees.

They are mostly marked

With orange Xs

Their fate is clear.

The emerald ash borer

Must be stopped

In its tracks.

They came from Asia.

Nothing bad ever begins

In this country

In this county

In this town

On this street

In our yard.

Growing up in Minneapolis

It was Dutch elm.

It is always easier

To blame something bad,

On some thing

On some one

From overseas
even
Over some border.

Mark them with orange Xs

Stop the blight

Nothing ever seems to start

Here.