Seeking Directions

They take their privacy
seriously out here, surrounding themselves
with acres of it.
Not a single house waits by the roadside to
invite passing interest.
Edged with snow despite a May day’s heat,
potholed gravel driveways
stretch and narrow into a screen of trees.
Mailboxes stand sentry.
In spite of forebodings, seeking directions,
you follow one such artery.
The forest floor gives way to sweet clover.
Arrested in mid-crumble,
a wooden corncrib announces occupancy.
Then, around the bend,
curious but suspicious, behind barb wire,
a field full of grazing cows
is suddenly tracking your slow progress.
Reaching the farmstead,
you both fear and hope someone appears.
On the home’s front porch,
a dog bristles even before the car stills.
Stalled and directionless,
you have come too far to find a way back
to the safety of privacy.


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