Red Road
From asphalt to gravel, from
Gravel to that barely—what
I am searching for I do not
Know, but I keep driving—
This land once home, fifty
Years back my teacher and
Nature, my twang-mouthed
Preacher—hills overgrown, red
Heaped mud in sun-hardened
Ditches, sweet gum and bramble
Bowing wild before pines, my one
Lane drying into otherness, one
I’ll twist leaving my rental’s front
Axle impaled on a stump or
Windshield bashed head unto after
By a pickup, that young
Driver having thundered up
The crest, some faithful
Homebody having no idea
His hard-changed hills might
Reclaim a wayward lover, decades
Within fugitive gullies.
I’m sure this road has to
Go somewhere, as worry should
But doesn’t when searching
For the source of a search
Ends on other people’s
Property, so I keep driving
For reasons that have
Less to do with return
Than daring—my foot poised
For the brake, my eyes an instant
When the difference between
Start and finish arrives
Head-on, both guys
So very sorry, from finding
To having been
Found, fear splitting
Blood-heart cedar,
The red road roaring.
Share this post with your friends.
