Monday, November 7, 2022: Mark States' "Avenue of Dreams"

Mark States has written three poetry collections (Reinvention from Mother's Hen in 1995, Grip of the Past from CC Marimbo Communications in 2000, and Tongue Control from The Laguna Poets Series #215 from The Inevitable Press in 2001). 

Former host of Poetry Express (Berkeley, CA 2002-2011) and facilitator of the Public Speaking for Poets workshops at the Berkeley Art Center, Mark has appeared in such publications as Oakland’s Neighborhoods, Oracle, Poetalk, and the San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly; and on-line in Poetrymagazine.com, The November 3rd Club and poeticdiversity.com. He currently resides in Charlotte, North Carolina.

AVENUE OF DREAMS

The last time I visited Nana’s house – in the passenger seat of a

late-1970s Chevy as my friend the driver nervously watched

the people on the block nervously watching us – it was

an hour or so before sundown in East Oakland.

She’d been dead 8 or 9 years, house sold, now two pickup trucks

in the driveway and children’s toys strewn about the yard.

A bicycle lying on its side on the lawn

like a drunkard with one pedal leg and one handlebar arm

raised in the air seductively beckoning “come play with me.”

A black wrought iron fence, no spikes, at sidewalk’s edge.

That wasn’t there before, I noted, in fact most of the block was fenced now.

Along with barred windows. Nice paint job on the house though.

Then I looked up and it struck me like Paul Bunyan’s axe:

our tree in the back yard was GONE.

A solitary majestic redwood, it towered over the neighborhood.

Propped against it was a basketball backboard my uncle built

with a few 2x4s and a section of plywood, to which he nailed a hoop with fancy net.

I forget how he affixed it to the tree so it would not –

like in the cartoons – teeter then topple over and flatten Wile E. Coyote,

but it took several attempts and methods.

That big ole tree had a strange relationship going on with the pine tree next door.

Wooden fence barely squeezed in between those two,

and generally was ignored as if a feeble referee in tv wrestling,

as those trees pushed each other.

Plenty of pinecones fell on our side of the fence however,

that we turned into baseballs for backyard batting practice.

Have you ever tried to throw a curve ball with a pinecone?

Life threw me a curve ball. One swing, one miss, then the ball hit me.

Was as hurt and angry as when years ago some folks broke into Nana’s house

and stole enough stuff to fill a whole moving truck. 

This time, the loss was a tree and childhood memories.

My friend asked if I wanted to walk up to the door and knock.

No longer was I in the mood, besides

our idling car in the middle of the block was attracting too much attention.

I stared into the side view mirror until we turned the corner.

It’s true what they say – you can never go back home.

You can only look back, and objects in the mirror

might not be close to what you remember them to be.

© 2022 Mark States