photo: ralph murre
Detour
by Stephen Anderson
Driving home that day
On the bleak, otherwise
Deserted road,
The man, trance-like,
Remembered deep green forests,
The picnic-worthy riverside
That was ever so pleasant with
Warm human touch, shared drink
And food, laughter – afternoons
Since lived and forgotten
By the aging man, now
On this isolated road across
His glaring current reality,
Across this path not of his choosing,
Not really sure where he’s heading
In what seems like time-travel so
Distanced from those memories that
He now feels courted by
A siren, seductively singing from
The other side of his river memory,
A call to go to that river’s edge and
Slide into its cool embrace, Zen-like,
Not pushing the water at all,
His fingers open-webbed like those of
A fetus free-floating in the womb.
~first published in Free Verse
