uprooted trees
sawed into logs
we wander
far from our source
our houses abandoned
heedless of our souls
we break ground
for new foundations
driving
in lake effect snowsquall
up the peninsulas
between the lakes
Erie Huron
Michigan Superior
across the spangled Bridge
the deep black straits below
into dense deer-dangerous forests
an eerie
Spike and I
200 miles to go
sliding on unplowed roads
snowstorm beating
wipers slapping
music drumming
I come each season
to my old bed
in my old room
near the ancient red bluff
my mother's dog jumps
my mother feeds me
pea soup, rye bread, tea
in the morning
small languid snow falls
slow winter dawn lifts
on old apple trees
on a white hill
the old house sighs
you are home.
this, at least,
has not changed.
© Jane Piirto. All Rights Reserved.