Private Road by William Logan

Dusty, sun-stroked,
the attic rose in sepia haze, a photograph
c. 1880: broad floorboards laid down

before the Civil War, square-nailed,
lined up in lockstep. The old colonial,
ours for two decades, reached

the low point of that once vast estate,
the winding drive half gone to grass,
two antique oaks slanted toward firewood,

and, in the back quarter, shrubby remains
that forgot to be formal gardens.
The basement, walls old boulders

lain to foundation, seethed a cheerful
vegetable air. Reduced to two acres,
the mansion had been surrounded by houses

generations younger, like an old roué
by children whose names he cannot remember.
The massive horse-chestnut

trailed its skirts on barren ground,
concealing a bower of greenery within.
From the demilune windows in the attic,

on a clear day you could see Connecticut.


Date: 2021

By: William Logan (1950- )

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