Brenda B Frank


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



About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Brenda B Frank

  1. Robert Nisbet says:

    I really enjoyed Brenda’s poem. As so often, a poem of around 30 lines can achieve so vividly and succinctly what you might expect from a story of nearer 2.000.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s