By Askold Skalsky
CEDARVILLE ONCE MORE In the morning I headed sea-ward to the South Jersey shore before turning aside toward the village bungalows around the sloping basin of a swanless artificial lake, like a glass eye ringed with summer foam, the school behind it where once outside I strung the planets out on the hot ground to show my class the unimaginable distances, then in late afternoon drove back to the cedar tree marking the road’s fork from which I would meander to my parents’ house, and afterward kept meandering, remembering Pluto in its outer sweep beyond the woods’ dark, solitary deep.
Photo by Vincent Corriveau
Mason Street 