The Road
Life is nothing but a road--
a farmer’s dirt path
through the winter wheat
where he can drive a tractor
or walk cows home to
the barn’s warmth or
stroll to a distant church spire
piercing clouds gathered above trees.
The footpath leads down to a river
where children in summer catch frogs
and release them in the tall grass.
Bluegills in the river wait for flies.
The dirt trail, a byway open to all,
made by unknown explorers,
stamped with boot tracks of autumn deer hunters
looking for a place of rest, an open fire.
As you walk by abandoned railroad tracks,
the sun breaks through clouds.
Crows call to each other in the pines,
speaking about where to find food,
their past lives, and the ghosts of friends.
You overhear two people talking,
a gentle discussion about the rain and wind.
An old wooden bridge crosses the river.
Carrying a bag of rusty gardening tools,
your hands and feet are tired at day’s end.
You yearn for a pint of ale, the hearth,
a bowl of cabbage and corned beef stew.
You feel a hand reaching to touch your hand.
We crave knowing who awaits in the next village,
over the next hill, who lives down the road
in the faded white clapboard farmhouse.
What happened to old friendships
that you savored at night like spiced wine?
The quiet of the forest,
spring snow turning into rain--
the thought of heaven.
Jonathan Thorndike is an amateur Irish fiddle player, grandfather, lover of dogs, bicycle mechanic, and English professor in Nashville, Tennessee. His poetry previously appeared in Albany Review, Bellingham Review, Panoply, Piedmont Literary Review, Red Cedar Review, Slipstream, South Florida Poetry Review, Sunrust, The Windless Orchard, and Zone 3.
Amethyst Review 