The road home lies through darkness
The headlights of my little blue car can hardly
Illuminate. The brights light up only
The blowing snow. There’s nothing to see in
Ruggles, Nova, Sullivan, Homerville, or Lodi–finally
The glare of Akron in the distance, then more darkness,
Then Massillon. I didn’t grow up there, but now
It’s the place I seem to belong.
One of those towns holds memories:
Sunday dinners with his folks of pot roast,
Pork chops, mashed potatoes, dressing. corn, and
Pie–cherry, lemon, maybe black raspberry.
And lunch with a friend. He drove my little
Red Vega and said, “I wanted to surprise you.”
I said, “Oh, I’ve been here before.”
I wanted to hold his hand as it rested
On my parking brake. I wouldn’t have believed
We were saying good-bye.
The Reed House sits for sale in the dark.
His folks are gone. My friend is sick.
He and I are old, and still I am
Wanting to find a way to go home.
Brenda B. Frank
Brenda Frank is a retired school psychologist who for fun teaches writing at Wayne College in Ohio. Her novella, The Leader of the Band, may be read at