The house tucked back
So you’d never
See its entirety unless
You were on the towpath
Which was exactly where
She was trying to drop
Those last twenty-five she’d
Been feverishly struggling to lose
After the divorce, her children
All successful in their own rights
And states far away
Her ex was now retired living with
Her – his claim of new found
Happiness drove her walk faster
To where her feet were shifting in
And out on the hard sandy surface
With a slight give
He had left behind expensive
Binoculars that bounced off
Her chest as her pace was
Driven and focused on the straight
Ahead
Trying to ignore the
Peripheral past
The towpaths lie for miles ahead
Of her to which she had no
Plans or end point to
Her mission; motivated among
The mundane, she kept on truckin’
Thinking that stopping was failure
Her gait slowed upon the startled
Movement
Of a rare crane lifting off its
Motioned awkward flight
She puffed her chest to bounce
The binoculars into her hands
Affixing them to her eyes, stopping
All in one motion as if
She had practiced this for years
Standing entirely silent as the
Thin frame of sleek gray ease
Landed in a pond that
Framed the front yard
Of the house that she had passed
Several years’ worth of times
As she climbed the social work
Ladder
Yet knew it not.
The enormous bird landed
Gracefully in the cat-o-nine
Tails in the south end
Both of her lenses focused
On the entire bird inspecting
Each facet, she smiled in awe
She remained hushed
Besetting all of her current cares far
From her current location
The clarity of the crane in her lenses
Caused her to take in the whole
Pictured event
Such a breath- taking incident
The scenery intrigued her
She started to scan the whole
Property panoramically
She felt convicted as she was
On that slippery slope of
Admiring was trickling into
Eavesdropping
The house held the ability
To be admirable as the land
That held it was vast for the region
Its second floor held large bay windows
Like smiling teeth
Larger than anyone’s you’ve ever seen
A far cry from the cape she
Crampily occupied since the papers
Were signed
I shouldn’t be spying on these people
They must want their privacy or
They wouldn’t be purposely hovering
On the far end
Of their serene property.
Peppered with a wide variety of
Trees, shrubs and bushes. Much
Green, little color.
Her state pension was a delight
But didn’t allow her to support
Her zeal to be a green thumb
I am just looking in reverence, not
To be a busy body
Plus it intentionally built
Across the street and the entire
Canal was between
Nobody could see anyways
In the wider-than-normal bay window
Appeared to be almost looking like a
Picket fence, It almost gave the illusion
That there was an outdoor fence indoors
She put her binoculars down on her chest
Looked around the landscape again
And then
It dawned on her
Something wasn't right
She put the binocular glass right up to
Her cornea so that she could
See perfectly
To see if it were real or not
Why would a fence be inside of a house?
It was a natural wood color
Hadn’t been painted
She could see it was indeed
A picket fence
In the upstairs bedroom of this house
The swooping crane
That was taking off from the pond
Was a distant second her
New-found interest
Now she was enamored by the
Rough-looking contrasting fence
Inside
In reality the railing
Looks smooth each picket looked almost
Rounded off
She started to question
If her eyes were failing
Like the rest of her life
Playfully, she, laughed at herself
And kept looking around the yard
With her binoculars
Glassing the landscape
Admiring all the different shrubs
Slowly decided to take her thinking
Move it off the house and back onto the path
Where she was walking
She did one last scan of the house
The crane, the pond and the greenery
She stopped again at the bay window
Something had been added
To the picket indoor fencing,
A round circle that appeared
Where she hadn’t seen it before
She presumed no one was home
There was no movement during her full scan
A movement only a human
It could be
That appeared up behind the
Second floor fence
Doing a double take
She swung her whole body
Around facing the house again
Lifting her binoculars to see more
There was indeed an oval
Shadowy figure in the room
Standing behind the fence
In Fact, the fence pickets almost
Reached the top of the window
She hadn't noticed that before
She didn't really know the dimensions of it
On the pickets were two hands
A head peering between the slats.
Vexed and second guessing
Her vision, reality and her
Lists of possible conspiracies
I wonder if they can see me from here?
Her breath fogged up the lenses
I hope not, because I'm not spying on them.
She said out loud lying to herself
The head continued moving back and forth
In motion
Almost to music
Weaving back and forth
Behind the picket fence
She didn't know what to make of it
Body looked like an adult or
Grown man acting as a child.
Curiosity overcame her
She returned to her vehicle
Parked against the guardrail
That framed the south of the canal
She positioned so she
Could see the figure
As it continued to move
Left to right
Right to left
Left to right
In a steady streaming motion
With its hands
Clutching the pickets
The details of the face
Could be made out much easier
Even from the naked eye from
Where she was sitting
She brought her with binoculars
Up to her eyes to see even closer
Her snooping was now slowly transforming into
Worry and collusions
That zipped
Through her mind bouncing
Off each side of her left and
Right side of her brain
Her logic was in an all out
Bout with her emotions
Why was an adult looking man
Acting like a child behind a
Picket fence inside of a house?
After she formed that thought
A hand came down in front of the fence
A third hand and shut the shade immediately
Hastily
Rushing over to the second window
Pull the shade down hurriedly
As if they knew she was watching
Her binoculars fell to the floor
From the force of her taking off so quickly to
Get out of there.
She clipped along, as the
Scenery blurred her fringe
Speeding home
She fled
More quickly
Than her middle-aged body
Had ever fled
That her fear and agony would have been
Left back at the point it all
Hit her.
Her “what-ifs” were piling
Up, like a sluggish worker backed up on
An assembly line; they were
Forming so quickly that her
Fears were birthing
And multiplying their own
Terrors like litters of rabbits
She didn’t know where to put
Them all
Her cognition was becoming
Too thin.
Ok … Ok, just write down
Only what I saw
What IF they saw me?
My license plate …
Her dread was mortaring
Cinderblocks around her
Who should I tell?
Why did I have to look?
It was just a crane.
There was nothing that took
Precedence over worrying
About the events that
Had just taken place
She hadn’t been affected
By anything like this in some time
Even getting served with divorce papers
At her office, hadn’t altered her
Like this
This tiny bit of sand
Became a mature pearl in elapsed time
She collected her loose ends, and
Called the police
They told her that they would
Send an investigator to her house
In the morning
-She slept not-
Her storytelling abilities
Infused emotion and
Gave the investigator a
Feeling of intrigue
This certainly was something
Different than the humdrum
Stolen bicycle or garage
That was broken into
His interest piqued as
He thought of the positive press
He would get in the shadow
Of the commonplace of police
Brutality that had been
Spraying the news with blue blood
He felt her feelings
This was a far cry from the
Usual blotter fodder that
Made the Suburban News
Or the Penny Saver
He took real notes
Like he was a rookie again
He pulled out the driveway
Going directly to the house
***
“Let it go, mom.
It has been days and you
Need to move on
And readjust your realities.”
Her son’s sparse phone call
And quick text
Conversations weren’t helpful
The moments in between
The thoughts of the man
And the picket fence
Was increasing in length
As the crane sighting
Was fading away
Her conspiracy theory
Became the exact headline
That evening on the local news
GROWN MAN FOUND LIVING IN AN ADULT-SIZED PLAYPEN
It all started there
Then the wick sizzled through that port town
She watched as they broadcasted
Live
The parents
Hanging their heads
In handcuffed shame
They spoke not a word
Not even “No Comment”
That allowed too much churning
To swirl the partial truths
With all that was simply unknown
From an embittered divorcee
To a local hero flashing
The hoopla was all about
Her discovery
Her instinctual genius
Her steel nerves to make
This notion not a premonition
But ammunition to save
This poor soul
But what about the
Man behind the fence
Well, who else to
Rehabilitate him but
She
She who
She who saved
His life
From the fenced in atrocities
She went from the
Swooping heroine
To a permanent plan
To foster him parentally
Even though they were
Around the same age,
How could this work?
When ethics
Are framed by the
Media, then anything
Can go in any
Direction
The media had heard
Of stowaways,
Abuse was commonplace,
Stolen and held for years
Was getting run-of-the-mill,
But nothing quite like
This to the mass media
Was a refreshingly new
Tragedy – set apart
And would stand out
Among all the other
Headlines
A new spin to an
Age-old issue
Just a different setting,
The plot similar
Isolation was intrigue
To the outside world
Extroverted and thirsty
For more fuel to keep
The catalyst of
Gossip idling
At high RPMs
“Mother Teresa” they
Deemed her
Seems like the next
Logical step, she
Agreed with their plan
She stated surrounded
The mic’ed up world
Earful reporters were
Famished needing to be
Fed with a long lasting
Story of hope that
Reeked of a happy ending
They certainly had a
One-of-a-kind,
“The Hiker Hero”
Oh, the headlines
And labels stretched
Across the globe now
Bringing a validation
To her lost identity
And one she had never
Been labeled
Granted rights
By the biased court judge
(Looking for his minute of fame),
He was now hers
It was high priority and the
Justice system worked quickly.
Supervising the man
Behind the picket
Fence – fenced in
Jailed innocence
Never committing a crime
Ever
Just being
She cried each time she
Thought about it this
Way in her tired mind
He was now free
Man
Psychiatric tests
Revealed he had
Some intelligences
And could be
Rehabbed
The media wanted
To document the
Retired social worker
Coming Out of Retirement to Take Her Work Home
If she were working she’d
Retire instantly to
Be with him, to make
Him world-worthy,
Walking their quaint
Town’s sidewalks by
Christmas!
His matted hair woven
With salt and pepper
And resembled a less-than
Upright young man
And turning the corner
With less than
Half of his to
Actually live free
She was now the
Gatekeeper eager to
Get him to freedom
A modern day Harriet Tubman
To the world
He’s never been introduced
To, as first
Impressions are crucial
She made her house
Welcoming for her new
Guest, the “project,”
The chosen one to
Turn this man’s life
Around by granting him
His first life
Not reborn but
Finally born
Knowing his embryotic
Stage of development
Would be quick and
He could at last
Get on with a
Hope of quality
When they brought him
He was quiet
Constantly looking around
As if the air were
Supposed to bring him
A scent of a familiarity
But why wouldn’t he
Focus on the woman
Who rescued him
From his terrible parents
He didn’t possess the
Gratification she had
Hoped nor the jubilant
Praise the papers had
Vehemently projected
His eyes shifted with
Darting swings
Not stopping enough to
Focus, scanning in a
Constant swooping motion
She immediately fell onto
Her tendencies
He must have a severe
Case of some deficit
She had a book
And career full of labels
She started sticking on
Him like Post-it notes
I think he has “this”
So let’s try this and that
But all of her DSMV’s
Was turning this man
From his hum-drum state
And start to lurch
Over the days she
Was getting nowhere
His mannerisms and
Existences weren't the
Bobbling, joyful head
She saw in the pen
Behind the bay window
Don’t hide or
Look away, I
Am here to help
You remember who
I am and what
I did
I saved you from
That evil
She said almost
As if she were trying
To shake a dead
Person to life
She was scrunching
Her wrinkles when
Mentioning his
Parents and the pen
Almost as if she
were reminding him of
The first half of his
Existence
You’re free now!
Be happy!
Her smile and jubilance
Didn’t transfer to him
It was like
Delivering the punch line
To what you think is a
Hilarious joke, only to see
Confused faces
Her audience was
Nonresponsive at best
In fact, it was reversing
To where he was starting
To act as if she were
Trying to hurt him
She had spent every
Moment fighting to get him
Legally and her frustrations
And second guessing
Were filling up
All the empty space
That once had
Surrounded her daily
Life; walks on the canal
Down freedom’s path
Weren’t an option
Because of what she
Had gotten herself
Into
Her leisurely strolls
Were over
If I fail, it will be bigger news than the news of me saving him.
Taking him under
My wings was putting
Me into a new jail
That made a divorce feel
Like a vacation.
Vacation which I will
Never have again
I can’t do this, screaming aloud
I can’t
As her car door
Slammed she sped away
Parking off the road
In a wooded dead end
So nobody would
See her
With her face
Buried deep into
Her steering wheel
And the tears that
Glistened on the leather
Trim.
They’ll put him away
Forever
I am
His only non-institutionalized
Help and hope
I know I am and I
Have been appointed
By God to be his
Angel on earth
Her self-fulfilling
Prophesy was becoming
Tarnished as she
Realized she had left
Him alone, alarmed
She sped back home
Being only gone
For minutes
Her front garden was
Torn up
Fresh earth where
Her fenced in herb garden
Was no more
The protective barrier
She put up to guard
Against the droves
Of Western New York
Deer and woodchucks
Now gone
Why would someone steal
An old wood fence
She sprinted inside seeing
A trail of dirt
Leading to the living room
Window
He looked up from
Within his inner
Cell.
It all hit her
And was driven
Like those fence posts
Piercing her norms
Her beliefs,
Her textbook –
Institutionalized answer
To the misbehavior equation,
Her concrete explanation
And reasoning of defiance
Painted in thick black
And white,
Her assuming the role
Of hero
Her goals of making him
Like all the others
All those cases she
Failed at, scrolled in
Front of her eyes like
A stock ticker
Faces she won’t forget
Her face they don’t
Want to remember
The dawn-on of that
Her successes were
Only the few that would
Conform.
Her tunnel vision was
Slowly opening up
Like the end of a
Water slide
Nearing her big splash
She laid eyes on him
Looking beyond the surface
Looking deeper past the
Behavior
Past her pet peeves that
She had been trained to be
Annoyed at to fill out
Endless paperwork over
Stepping over her wall
That she had always
Built thinking she was
More apt at life than
Her endless list
Of “less-thans”
The epiphany of truth
Was sliding into her
Like a needle, a sedative
She had ordered at the
Drop of a hat
Her degrees of separation were
Counting down like a
Rocket launch.
It takes a while to
Slowly creep down
From 100 years to the
Moment
Now, the teeter totter
Was a right angle of
See-sawing
Seeing directly across
At him. She saw him
Now. He was the only
One that could open
Her eyes enough to stare
Deeply at his
True,
Human-self
He recognized this,
He knew
He must have as he
Smiled
Brightly
As he patted the
Pickets like a long
Lost love reuniting
After separation,
Like war.
He knew.
She obviously hadn’t
For years.
His eyes weren’t the
Gateway to an empty
Container like she had
Quickly thought.
This was filled with differing
Preoccupations
But still they had
All the common grounds
Fear
Happiness
Joy
Confusion
Their Venn Diagrams
Had much more
Overlap than she
Was understanding
In her programmed
Brain.
He, the one without
A name or direction
In life,
Without a life
Like hers
Like others
Knew contentment
She, who was in the world,
Was less happy than he,
He was happier inside the
Pen
Than she was in the
World
The very world she
Was clawing tooth and
Nail to make him
A part of
The part he wanted
Nothing to do with,
His world was real
And she saw it now.
He smiled,
Which was, in his
Language, inviting
Her to be a part
Of his world.
Something he had
Never done
Before.
She joined him,
In
The
Pen.