Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Driving Home


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Driving home in rain
words stepped out,
stood there in the road
confronting me.

You can’t talk to people -
only about the weather.

I pulled over.

Parked at the bridge
over the reservoir
where the long lane leads away,

I wrote.

Approaching
Walker’s cemetery
on Central Pike,
raining lightly,
gray.

Alone on the road.

On the verge of lush green woods,
blinkers flashing ,
poison ivy climbing
trees near the gate
to the long grass-covered lane.

Yellow and black lines
snaking on the road
in the rear view mirror.
tension,
waiting for a car to pass.

A bird laughing,
asking:
Who are you?
What are you doing here?
What do you want?

I pulled away.

Heading home again,
hearing:
Who made you?
Why did God make you?

I passed the cemetery.

I remember climbing the steps
that day,
finding the grave;
I copied the words on the stone,
kept them so long
in a drawer:
Sarah Walker
Age 21

I wonder

If she saw me back then,
if she sees me now -
if she’d like to talk.



Posted for
d'verse poets



13 comments:

  1. mmm...seeing those grave stones can be a solemn reminder...why were you made...well in a small way to spin words so we could read them...but i am sure there is much more...


    kinda nice here at the back table...smiles.

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  2. Ann, I have an empathetic view with what you have just written; I find these moments often, and start actually writing in my mind, but then the moment passes and I can't recapture it. I'm glad you captured one of these moments I'm referring to. Well written in describing the surface that is much deeper than our negligence for recognition.

    -Pounds

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  3. many reflective thoughts in this, nice

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  4. You have freaked me out now.. I've just changed my post for In Tandem, but I'll email you the first option, and you'll probably see why I had a da-da-da-da moment when I read your poem...

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  5. Ann, that's marvelous. The whole thing, from the rich description of the rainy road everything at its verge, to the laughing bird and Sarah Walker. This may be my favorite of yours, that I've read!

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  6. Very lovely descriptive imagery, from the dark and dreary road, the fear, the rain, the grave stone with the girls name on it. Very sad to see some has died, so young, too.
    Lovely, meaningful prose.

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  7. Very mournful write, with such wisdom in your words, nicely done.

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  8. I read this once, was going to comment, then read it again just for pleasure first. As in all your poems, your ordering of events and words is balanced and serene, but here the questions are sensate with a longing to really know the answers, knowing perhaps you never will. The last stanza just pierces the heart.

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  9. ..ye know i like you best when you tend to be so masterful of words and in putting up your descriptions well and clear... this is haunting and calls a visit from the graves... amusing write!(:

    Brightest blessings!

    ~Kelvin

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  10. i'm so glad you stopped and wrote this down...if you had waited until you were at home, i think you wouldn't have managed to capture the mood so raw and fragile any more...great write ann

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  11. this is great...keeping it so long in a drawer...oh that is the perfect touch....i am with claudia...glad you shared it ..bkm

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  12. Now THIS is a good poem that really says something.

    I like the thought of you pulling over to write, like something I'd do.

    Sarah Walker, I wonder who she was, and why dies so young.

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