Safe Journey

Mother and I walk a dusty autumn road.
Though ash trees have started to turn,
early morning south wind carries false promises
of endless summer.

I chatter about my life, rattle
down the road careful to step around our differences,
to walk wide around
as if they were potholes from last week’s rain,
so life can flow on
like rivulets of dust on the roadbed.

The sun, roasted orange, splits the hilltop,
a paradox of hot color, cool damp air
like her love for me, her young, reckless daughter
always tempted to tear up the road
in muddy weather.

I jam my hands in my pockets; we stop, share
leaves crossing the road in a whip of wind,
a meadowlark sounding daybreak from a sunflower,
sunlight flashing in the tops of cottonwoods,
turn toward home.
I stay silent, ready now to listen.    

by Cheryl Arends