July 28, 2016

COBBLESTONES

As a kid I loved to walk on cobblestone streets.

They were some of my sacred places in

Brooklyn and in older sections of Manhattan.

I loved the way they were solidly set in place -

cobblestone after cobblestone after cobblestone,

cobblestone after cobblestone after cobblestone,

cobblestone after cobblestone after cobblestone,

cobblestone after cobblestone after cobblestone,

row after row after row - dark grey stones - sort

of like those block sized loaves of bread - in the

glass displays - kids' size high - in the bakery - 

and as I walked along on the sacred stones -

sometimes with my dad - I knew I was walking

with security and solidity, like the cobblestones.

My dad died on June 26, 1970. Like so many

cobblestones - he is buried underneath my life -

like the unseen cobblestones still underneath so

many black softer macadam covered streets.... 

Looking back I now know it was good to have so

much strength and solidity - underneath my life -

cobblestones with cobblestones - even though 

I can no longer see what’s below - but I know....

© Andy Costello, Reflections 2016