The Lost, and: First Memory

The Lost, and: First Memory THE LOST / Keith Althaus The wind blows across the lake and through the trees and shakes the hardwood branches where each leaf hangs forlorn as a lost glove on a bulletin board, awaiting gravity's cold call, to jump, back to earth, to mere existence. after living in the air; and all around the pines stand soldier green. The chains lie across the road, the trails are open, but hardly anyone comes in the park. The only visitors this time of year, in the middle of a weekday afternoon, lonely souls who sit in their cars in the empty lot like they were looking for as big as the lake, or drive around a parking space, or a vacant table through the trees; the same ones you see on country roads, going slow as tractors, as if they were lost, which they are, though they probably know the route by heart. I know where they are lost. How in an empty room the bowed head locks and the eyes see through the hands' bone posts and fence of veins, and through the knees and legs and floor, to a hidden spring 24 ¦ The Missouri Review that is http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

The Lost, and: First Memory

The Missouri Review, Volume 4 (3) – Oct 5, 1981

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
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Abstract

THE LOST / Keith Althaus The wind blows across the lake and through the trees and shakes the hardwood branches where each leaf hangs forlorn as a lost glove on a bulletin board, awaiting gravity's cold call, to jump, back to earth, to mere existence. after living in the air; and all around the pines stand soldier green. The chains lie across the road, the trails are open, but hardly anyone comes in the park. The only visitors this time of year, in the middle of a weekday afternoon, lonely souls who sit in their cars in the empty lot like they were looking for as big as the lake, or drive around a parking space, or a vacant table through the trees; the same ones you see on country roads, going slow as tractors, as if they were lost, which they are, though they probably know the route by heart. I know where they are lost. How in an empty room the bowed head locks and the eyes see through the hands' bone posts and fence of veins, and through the knees and legs and floor, to a hidden spring 24 ¦ The Missouri Review that is

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Oct 5, 1981

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