Park

Shaded oasis in a concrete world
Where I marked my milestones.
Benches worn thin as mothers rocked carriages.
Grassy knolls cushioning first steps.
Sandpiles to shovel.

I pedaled three wheels down earthen paths,
Touch tackled on the green,
Sledded around trees,
Encountered girls smoking Chesterfields.

Woodlands of the Bronx
Mother of parks,
Archetype of all that grows.
And still I seek the green leaves of time.