THE LIME KILN
Taylor Graham
What tipped us was the ruined
round mouth in a face
of concrete, teeth stuck out
like poor kids. Twisted rebar
where we're looking
for Schultzy.
Down there, beyond a low
scabbed wall, a room
that lost its roof an age ago.
A reef of broken rafters,
old Davenports like sunken
treasure. A parlor set
for cozy conversation
where we're looking for
Schultzy.
Is he still waiting for his tea
with a concrete anklet? Or
upholstered into an easy
chair? Was he invited
to get rid of, by folks
out looking for Schultzy?
Here's a wonderland of shafts
caved in and gone to rot and weeds.
It all keeps breaking down
to an essential whiteness:
limestone, oyster shell,
tooth and bone, so white
we can't see Schultzy.