Adirondack Peeks Winter 2023

Poem At the Split to Street and Nye Tim Hoppey, #ASP26342

Father: He’d done his best to wait for me Until I bade him bye. It’s now my turn to wait here at The split to Street and Nye. Son: The man I followed most my years Had tried to shadow me. He’d done his best, but still I left My father shadow-free. I’d readied for this coming day And packed my Robert Bly. I’ll weigh his words and wait here at The split to Street and Nye. He knew this day was coming soon And packed his poetry. It’s foolish I should feel a son’s The better company. I told my son it’s just the heat; It’s been a hot July. Except the weather’s lovely at The split to Street and Nye. Descending Nye, he’d blamed the heat But not to what degree. And when I left, we left unsaid He’s over seventy.

“My son’s just gone to hike up Street,” I told a passerby. She looked concerned, then left me at The split to Street and Nye. He told me “Go,” and I ask why I didn’t disagree. Perhaps my quarrel’s more about The way it used to be. I’ll want no better company On trails we’ve still to try. Except we’ve come apart here at The split to Street and Nye. I’ll turn around and hurry back Before he misses me. I wonder will I hike again When it’s not done as we. Too long I’ve leaned against this tree; I think I’d rather lie. Yes, that’s the way I’ll wait here at The split to Street and Nye.

WINTER 2023 | 61