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

doom instead.

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.