Paleo Pavement

Lori Janick

May 12, 2024

I’ve noticed, of course,

the paw prints in the street

preserved where pavement 

poured like lava long ago, 

fifty years at least since 

ground was broken,

trees felled, replaced 

with lesser trees.

Now I see

there are leaves

lacing the concrete-  

how remarkable

to have missed this 

tiny trail of birds,

each toe finely etched,

destination unknown.

Were they looking 

for lost homes, searching 

for seeds beneath 

the spreading gray?

Steps later, more prints—

raccoon perhaps, or possum?

Someone might know—

a century hence, others 

might discover all this and more—

handprints in driveways, 

children’s names traced 

with sticks, remnants of lives 

submerged in time

meaning nothing when 

we at last are gone.

Lori Janick was a children's librarian for 33 years where she witnessed daily the power of words to shape our world. Her work has appeared in the Round Top Poetry Anthology and TPA. She now devotes her time to writing, gardening and reading poetry to her attentive dog.