Pottery Lane
A haibun, I think?
Dad and I spoke of poetry and place. I spent the day driving North Country roads. Christmas shopping. Grouse hunting. I spent the day thinking of influences. Robert Hunter and Harrison. Bill Smith and Eminem. Dad. The mountains. Roots. History. Through the backyard was Pottery Lane. It took me fifteen miles to remember that damn name. A lifetime ago it was the whole world. The training wheels came off in the lane. I learned I was no good at sports. My first fight. My first friend. My first tastes of freedom. “Too far, Nathan!” A gateway to mischief. Cracked pavement memories. A shortcut home.
On Pottery Lane Was it Potters? Or Potter? So long long ago
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