Our road had no markers,
no signs to give us directions.
Yet we got on it anyway, hoping
that the sky would provide light
before we hit pot holes
and broke down. Often
we doubted that we’d make it,
yet the touch of a hand,
quiet moments shared
in a midnight house, helped us
to see orchids hidden
behind darkness, an almost
crazy belief that we’d find our way
here, today, with family
and friends, two cats waiting
at home, ears up,
our road always
leading us home.
January 13, 2017
About the contributor: Kenneth Pobo has a new book out (prose poetry) called The Antlantis Hit Parade. Forthcoming is Dindi Expecting Snow. His work has appeared in: Amsterdam Review, Brittle Star, Hawaii Review, Nimrod, and elsewhere.
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