I’m terrible at reading maps.
Each red line and dotted splash
of existence seem so insignificant
when you’re driving down a road
such as the one I’m on now, stretch of concrete
curving in no particular direction.

I’d like to tell you it’s exciting,
the wind whipping through my hair
like a wild lover’s fingers running through,
top dropped with my face up to the sun
but the truth is I’m alone
on this open road, more clouds
than I can count up ahead
and I hate the smell of rain.

I thought about stopping
to ask for directions before this
long stretch of cornfields and sunflowers
looming over me now, but I’m stubborn
and thought I knew enough to make it
on my own. Now it’s just another lonely day
and here I am, trying to make my way
back to a place where a lone farmer once stood
in contemplative silence, rich soil
of the earth caked on his hands, nothing before him
but acres of untouched land.

07/31/2009

Posted on 07/31/2009
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