Partially Settled Vagabonds

Once again...

I know there's been a lot of poetry here lately, and that's probably for three reasons:

1) I've rediscovered some old volumes of poetry and have been reading them before I fall asleep;

2) Garrison Keillor has a daily segment on APR called "The Writer's Almanac" and he finishes every day with a poem;

3) It's Fall, and is there a more beautiful time for poetry than the Fall? Everything slows down just enough to read a poem and actually understand it.

In light of these, and because I haven't posted anything for a while, I offer another poem to coincide with the time-change tomorrow night:

Driving Up the Ohio River on Route 2 in Late Fall

Trees breathe colors in afternoon light
turning the river into a slate of sky.
My wife and I drive a West Virginia two laner
beside the long waters, by an old railroad track.

Fields of alfalfa bordered in brush turn golden brown
as we pass again old faces of houses,
the dark brick and windows of abandoned factories
that lead into quiet towns a few blocks long.

Two old men talk on a street corner,
point to the ground, the sky;
a woman carries her baby and grocery bag
to a blue pick-up truck as evening comes on.

Life flows on like a river apart
from the roadways and bridges.
A sign in a beauty shop reads, "Come on in,"
and we wish we could enter more deeply here.

But we have those slow miles before sleep.
Our car drinks them in passing.
So little we really know, so much we share—
driving up river, heading home.

"Driving Up the Ohio River on Route 2 in Late Fall" by Larry Smith, from A River Remains. © WordTech Editions.

posted by John and Mag @ 6:19 AM