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  • Writer's picturePenny Harter

[7/18/20]

After a few days off, another new poem: On this afternoon’s ride I decide to turn off on a dirt road that looks inviting, seeking the deep shade of tall trees arcing over the road and the peace of nature. But some roads . . .


Some Roads


Some roads go nowhere—or seem to go on forever

their brown dirt and gravel spinning up under my

wheels, green-head flies battering my windows, .


Some roads seem to go nowhere. Be here now

swampy tangles remind me. Look at the wild black

berries not yet ripe, vines entwining dense shrubs.


I have chanced on this road today, seeking escape

from the nowhere I’ve been in, from tangled days

that never seem to ripen.


Be here now, though the light is waning and

the road I have taken stretches out ahead of me,

perspective narrowing to a distant dark point.


This is the road I’m on now—my random impulse

luring me deeper into the illusion of no escape—into

this fairytale woods that would swallow me whole.


Every so often another dirt road intersects, beckoning

me to turn off and try it, hoping it might lead me out,

not strand me among the pinewoods ghosts.


At last I see a highway ahead, a paved promise of

release after all—yet coupled with my relief, I feel

a strange reluctance letting go of being lost.


© 2020 Penny Harter

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