Downhill from the Park
A seasoned man sits in a folding
chair, at a folding table, with
a thermos open, a leather
book to read or write in.
A fraying straw hat
he surveys the timber
hills that guard the ocean.
One supposes a painter
but there is no easel in sight.
The only color a red
Irish setter in the grass.
Without warning it leaps up, flees
downhill to the flat below.
A pileated woodpecker flies
back to its nest, goes in
to feed its restive brood.
Over the past five years I
watched the fir tree die
become a snag, watched
the woodpecker carve a nest,
at at the door I see tiny open beaks.
I watch the elder too as he persists,
comes each day, as the birds
flash by, as shadows grow
The Empty Chairs of February is poet and translator Carlos Reyes’ 16th volume of poetry. He is a world traveler but makes his home at the base of a dormant volcano in Portland, Oregon. Learn more about Carlos here: carlosreyespoet.com.
Dear Eric,
Thank you for your careful reading and insightful observations of my poem “Downhill from the Park. You have it right about the comparison and that it ties the poem together though that was not something I particularly thought of when I was writing the piece. You took away from it what I was suggesting. I appreciate your comments.
Dear Carlos, This is a lovely poem. I can almost “see” the landscape that the poem describes. My favorite line is : “he surveys the timber hills that guard the ocean.” It’s so surprising and fresh and interesting. I wouldn’t think that the ocean would ever need guarding. Question: I wonder if you’re making a comparison between the “seasoned man” who sits “surveying the timber” and the fir trees that you are watching decay over… Read more »