Grounds Maintenance

I cut through because it was faster.

Midweek, mid-afternoon, the sun

flat on everything, no shadows

doing anything interesting.

Two joggers ahead of me

on the path between the rows,

not slowing.

From the far end, the mower.

A riding one, going back and forth

in that patient grid,

grass clippings bright for a second

in the cut light

and then just on the ground.

I kept waiting to feel

the thing I was supposed to feel.

The stones were pale and warm-looking.

A name I didn't recognize.

Another.

The mower turned at the end of its row

with a sound like any machine

doing the thing it does.

I came out the other side

and kept walking,

which felt like something

but I couldn't say what.