Long Road to Lake Erie
I imagine running in my native land
known only as Windward Coast
existing in the spoken word
handed down from a language
forced upon my people
Awakening to my nightmarish reality
I prepare to run yet another night
my instructions given and repeated
inside a barn outside Portsmouth
known to me as station number nine
We pursue the waning gibbous
across the Ohio and into the arms
of extraordinary people who
provide encouragement and provisions
and a promise our new life is near
I imagine I’ll run even beyond my death
but for our children they will live
unrestrained and without images
of bounty hunters or bloodhounds
chasing them in their dreams
june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
The long road all immigrants take. I am of a lucky generation, able to be rooted in the soil of one place, yet my ancestors were wanderers and some of my descendants will wander. Yet we all call one small planet home.
So far – – –
So very true, Archie. Thank you for your continued readership of my blog. JW
Love the line ‘we pursue the waning gibbous across the Ohio.’ That is a gorgeous line.
Thanks so much, Lucy, and thank you for revisiting my little poetry world!