It is late afternoon as I drive along the stretch of country road that leads to Pleasant Hope. The cemetery is around one of the curves, to the left, beside the white A-frame church.
Tall pines shine
gold, threaded
through green needles
I wonder how much this road has changed since my mother’s youth. This is her past I’m visiting; I recall her stories of walking to church on dusty, unpaved roads. She could not, or would not, make the trip today. Perhaps she is afraid progress has covered what she knew, and she would rather not see.
The church is as she described it. I trail a finger along iron railing.
cool to my skin,
i touch
my mother’s memories.
1 comment:
That's very pretty.
Sometimes I feel that way when I go to visit my family. So much has changed.
Lori
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