Reservation Purpose [V1]

the road to the reservation
is pockmarked with forgotten objects
lost within the lushly sprouting land

there are rusted out cars older than me
with for sale signs hanging loosely in the windshield
i always expected the sign to be blown away
by a strong wind through the doorless passenger side
the next time i came by
but it was there all summer

there is a small withering stream surviving deep within
the gaping gorge with the wooden bridge
the walls of the canyon are far wider than the stream itself
an echo of a more powerful time when water
was the most dominant force on earth
but the stream will never disappear and only change
direction and depth and disposition

there is run down abandoned gas station
with windows covered by cheap rotting plywood that you
could find propped up against a dumpster
the paint is chipping and a fallen tree has collapsed the roof
there are lazy looping words on the facade written in black spray paint
temporarily closed

there is a fire hydrant hidden in the tangled brush
with no sign of man for miles spare the road
a relic of the hopes of the past
further down the road is a stoplight hanging from tethers
more noose than tightrope
and the burning color of purpose has long since left

the looming pines that line the path to the reservation
act as a guide and a shephard for these
forgotten objects
ushering them into memory