Approaching City Limits [https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1081627664932159620/1148820475057815553/anti_pirate_graphic_-_walking_in_sky_-_poetry_vol_1_-_white.png]

Good Friday, Cincinnati

Driving East on 74,

we are winding down,

tired of motion.

Driving has become

a force like gravity,

pulling us with tireless hands,

setting our pace

with invisibly fast Mercury feet.

In the back seat, our only son

sleeps past towns and the lack of towns.

Deep in his dreams, Ohio is a distant moon

he sees between changing seasons.

We pass a white-steepled church

shepherding a flock of nearby houses

haphazard in their placement,

They appear to be wandering

in their small valley, looking for a nook

in the hills, a way out.

I envision it all covered in nighttime snow,

decide that is the way some areas should only

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

be seen, despite the brazen clamoring of Spring,

who has taken advantage of three day's rain

to smother the highways in a hilly bosom, that is

overdressed with bright, new adornments of green.

Mount Airy Forest hovers on the left,

and seems lower, more earthly on the right.

The radio station appears and vanishes with each turn,

gives us gifts of song with ghostly randomness.

As my husband drives, we are constantly surprised

by purple trees that seem too bright for Lent.

Turning the wheel with hand-over-hand care,

he counts the silent crosses on the roadside,

as he names the flowers and photos which have been secured

to their center points, obscuring their bare, white intersections.

Soon, we will reach our destination. We are getting closer all the time.

- Kat Isacson

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