Wrong Turns

Wrong Turns

There have been times

I’ve turned too soon,

following the old roads

out of habit or curiosity,

my itinerate heart leading the way—

a tiny conquistador returning to the ruins.

 

One street leads to another

and I have been gone too long—

years of memory guiding the wheels.

 

I must have looked foolishly lost,

slowing down and stopping like I did,

rolling down the window—

the dead-end signs finally clear.

 

Back home there is a family to feed

and dishes to be done—

small and reasonable expectations.

 

From here I must take

what would have once been a wrong turn.

No matter how full my heart has ever been,

there is a pulse that whispers vacancy.

 

Home, sometimes,

is the only place I am lost.

 

 

DeMaris Gaunt

5-10-02

 

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