Sawyer Street

For some reason I remember when they paved the road. When we waded in the water from the flood. In the front room was a red velvet couch and a red rose bush grew in front of the big window.

The place past the field would hold the sun in the evening. And when the wind was angry its fury would paint the sky sienna brown. From the porch the distance seemed far away to a little girls eyes.

Too far to imagine going past the humming distant highway, too far to imagine eyes to melt my heart like the evening sun.