Leaving

Virginia.

Rolling Blue Ridge,

Fog clinging around treetops on rainy spring afternoons

In places with names like New Market, Front Royal, Luray.

 

Early summer and the twilight air is thick

With humidity and honeysuckle.

A little boy loses his ball in the street

But doesn’t run after it because his daddy is there.

And it makes me so grateful,

And it makes me think of Mom,

And I wonder how many times

I’ve navigated this stretch of road

With tear-blurry eyes.

 

Do they have honeysuckle in Colorado?

‘Cause if they don’t, I’ll sure miss it.

 

 

2005

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s