Directions Home

Start wherever you are.
Take the interstate
East or west
Underneath the vetted sky.
When you feel lost
In broken brush
You’re almost there,
Approaching arches,
Our exit,
An orange afterthought.
If the bridge is gone,
Fly the gap.
Pass the red headed girl.
Gas up at the dying diner
Where locals look
You up and down
And frown you
A new spine,
Chewing burgers
Named for fat coaches.
Hold their gaze.
The road will curve
Toward Illinois.
Don’t worry.
Soon you’ll part
Fields that months ago
Were seas,
Notice dried vegetal debris
Caught on barbed wire, pointing
The way water flows
Parallel to V.
Over the bridge, try to blur.
Read a message
In lights from Jesus
At the Wider Bible Church
Who mentioned just before
The flood
Something about thirst.
Notice roads
Run out of alphabet. Start
Panning for the edge
Of earth. Don’t turn
At the equal armed cross.
Now is not the time
To be caught
By country song or sketchy call.
You’ll miss it.
The first house
After double awe.
Everything around it leans,
Collects tumbleweeds.
If the time is right,
Your dust might make
A heifer sneeze or believe
In ghosts,
Forget to blink.
Watch her watch you
Walking to our door.
Notice the strange way
She makes you
Breathe.

2014

One Response to “Directions Home”

  1. Fey says:

    Ahhh. I like this road map. Never tho have ah seen a heifer sneeze

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