The Innisfree Poetry Journal
www.innisfreepoetry.org
by Julie Enszer
IN TEXAS
I am being driven ninety miles an hour from College Station to Austin on a twisted, two-lane highway. It's pitch black outside.
We drive, and we drive. Then we smell hay. I don't recognize it, but my travel companions tell me: hay.
They harvest memories from their baling childhoods. It makes me think of pine and cedar in northern Michigan:
how they smell in August at dusk and dawn when it is so cold, I need a sweater, and summer days are numbered
when every September brings me closer. I am lonely. I smell hay. I think of you.
Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication
|