Any way you cut it,
old Reservoir Hill
belongs to my pappy and me.
Everyone for miles around
can claim the Peak
and Simpson's Rest.
Prospect Point belongs to the North Siders.
But Reservoir Hill is ours.
No electrical signs there to
spell out the town's name.
And no stories of Indian caves
or suicide leaps.
The only public monument there
is the old, dry concrete reservoir
and piles of trash and empty beer cans.
It doesn't look like much
and nobody else wants it.
But from there
the entire community stretches out before us
shaped strangely like a cornucopia,
narrow up the river and splaying
out to the rich farm lands below.
That is our Reservoir Hill.
A place for bonding
and talking about beauty,
life and loneliness.
I discovered it as a child.
There I could be alone
but not lonely.
There I narrated plays starring me.
And I was a hero instead of the misfit
of the neighborhood gang.
When my mail carrying pappy
no longer walked
for a living I took him to Reservoir Hill.
I took him there to share
thoughts of life.
There I felt safe to face who I was.
There I had a place to give me perspective.
And my pappy was a living audience
instead of a mind picture.
And we know I will go up Old Reservoir Hill
once more to remember
one last time that it was our hill!
1st draft 64
2nd draft 64