Beatitude Road

Beatitude Road

Lorine, I came here to find you.

I sought to hear you–

calm, cool voice like good earth, silt.

 

I imagined us walking together

double-button coat,

thick glasses and stockings

side by side

with black leggings, gray jacket,

my red hair.

 

I was not expecting to see

little boys in search of cattails,

leaves with insect bites,

smelling flowers that have

begun to dry up.

 

I walked all the way to the bridge

and asked you which side

owned the prize view.

 

The right, sun setting blaze orange

behind the telephone lines

leading to the industrial park

behind the marsh fields,

or the left,

the river bend that curls

around the woods to the beaver dams,

the heron perches,

the grandfather bluff?

 

Look–

a heron and an eagle

soared past our shadows

making an invisible helix before the heron

gargled out a surrender

and waited patiently, blue neck in the tall grasses,

several geese

waded undisturbed nearby.

 

Few padded footsteps, heels covered in field dust,

the trail exit ahead

I walked feeling like the air was different,

my troubles, not so weighted

like the mud we had to cross.

I breathed blessings

on my walk with Lorine.

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