We drove for 17 hours
straight
through crooked roads
of pine
dust
mountain
I called
for a higher power
to release
the tired
from my palms;
your hand on mine
reliving a happiness
I was after
you: a crooked
straight
line
falling asleep
somewhere outside
Richmond, Virginia;
my parents:
now two straight
crooked lines
descending now
from one another,
a home broken,
my mother
with her palms clenched;
I asked
if we would fall now
to the same fate
and you told me
your palms
would always be open;
I relived a new childhood
one with you
behind every tree;
I set my gaze to home.