Taking the Back-Road Home, Chapman Hood Frazier

Charles Hood, End of the Road


Taking the Back-Road Home

A gray confederacy of mist conceals

the road home
                           as rain hisses
beneath each passing pick up.

I climb the hill, cross
                           the swollen stream
to take the back-way home.  I follow
the gravel road beyond the abandoned farm.

This morning
mother cut butter like words
                          into the frying pan
till father left
in a silence thick with sizzling.

Now, I leave the gravel for blacktop.
Rain settling to sleet edges the tips
of the cedars in ice.

Each divided branch is lost
in the white abstraction of sky.  I’m blind.

A numbing cold in my chest,
                           as I imagine the empty house
born of resignation in this falling white
                           all that I’ve known.
The road home disappears now
in a landscape lost
                                        in ice.

Chapman Hood Frazier

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