Thursday, April 16, 2015

Roads to Home

When my eyes close
the white flashes turn
to low mounds of flower cups
swaying in the car-rush breeze.
White Missouri cups contrast
pink, light and dark, Texas --
Arkansas is oddly bare,
pine hills near, bluffs
over marshes winged with birds
spearing in shallows the fish and frogs.
And the cup-round deciduous Kentucky hills,
asphalt ribboning between dynamite cliffs,
welcomes me with her coal-vein arms,
a discomforting comfort
that can only be home,
a place far from this concrete
prairie that can only be home.

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