Long have I wished for a calm voice
pointing me home,
a confident voice telling which fork
in the forest road,
leads to the soup, the bread,
the welcoming bed,
and which to dead-end
One night I circled a flat Texas town
for hours in my rented Ford
searching for the Hampton Inn
I’d left in daylight before
the unpredicted storm blew down.
The water rose; the gas gauge fell.
I surely had fore-tasted hell
lost in the unfamiliar, flooded town.
Now, the Angel Garmin takes
me through the four-level interchange,
over cloverleaf and roundabout,
keep left, exit, turn right,
she tells me. Perfect
mother, guardian, guide
all knowing, but flexible, kind,
never scolding when I fail
to turn as I am told,
she simply recalculates,
finds me, brings me back home.
This poem first appeared in The Serving House Journal and will be included a forthcoming book.
Used with the author’s permission.