Companion poem for chapter 4 of the R.M. Dolin novel, "Trophic Cascade"
Read original poem, read chapter
Old oaks yearn to
yield more freely
to the Santa Anna’s.
Dust blows through tracks
as rapidly as they’re laid
the same way our past
cascades over a collision
of words left unspoken
and moments allowed to pass.
Easy memories are
seldom retained,
which is why we grow hard
in the throes of time.
What some call luck,
others call fate.
Others still say
it’s the curse of our ancestors.
Badness comes in bunches,
or so at least it seems.
Love is an understanding acceptance
that where you are is
where you’re supposed to be.
Which is why the question remains,
as it always has,
how are we supposed to know
here is where we’re supposed to be?
From the R.M. Dolin novel, “Trophic Cascade.” Jake
