Low Country

(Forthcoming Publication in Ink Pantry)

 Driving carefully

through the storm.

Lines of swollen clouds

like black and grey ribbons.

Take me home angels.

Don’t let me go off course.

Follow the map

as it guides me through

the countryside.

Dark trees

with green buds.

I saw a mare standing over her foal

as protection in the rain.

The thunder scares me

but I have to drive straight through it

to get to the other side.

A fire smoldered in the rain

and filled my nostrils with smoke

from an old brick chimney,

years ago in a northern village.

Large black crows swoop

from the pine tree tops.

I am embarrassed that I left early,

but I know myself.

I know what I came to do.

I accomplished it

and I am ready to go home,

even though I could sense in his voice

he was disappointed in me,

not achieving the miracle.

Broken rooftops

and cottages sag by the roadside.

There are some white picket fences

that are kept with care.

Lone scary cypress

and Tuscan orange grass

sprout up like an Italian countryside,

yet the pines and thunder clouds

remind me

I’m in the low country.

Ditches are swelled with water

in this ghost town.

Rusted tin awnings and decaying black iron balconies

are on my view

as I creep around the storm

toward home, home, home.

Safety of city lights,

places I know

and the tender faces

I love, love, love.