Poetry

Care for the Road

They brought her back from South of death
With efficiency and hope.
She was confused, you might say annoyed.
She was not grateful.

She would have gone standing up,
In her apartment.
What she liked was freedom;
She didn't like fuss.

I stood by her hospital bed
One day, and held her hand.
I squeezed it, she squeezed back,
And she said to me:
"You know something."
Reading my face she was surprised to find
Not only a grandson, but a fellow traveler-
Starting out gently on her same road.

I remember we'd drive
To her cabin in Tamworth,
Ten miles slower than anyone else.
And now I see she enjoyed the journey only
When she took her own time.
Only as long as she cared for the road.

Comments or questions? Email to info[AT]henryharvey.com.
Copyright Henry Harvey 2006.