Ozarks

The foothills roll,

The movement we didn’t find in the state south of us

Now north is the corner of the house, cold and open to the field

East is the morning and the porch swing that has moved for so many of us

West is where I am, or was, depending on the day, week or month

On all distances in between I find echoes of conversations

This way, that way and another

Mother, Father, sister and brother

The things I’ve craved, the dates I’ve forsaken, to be absorbed without question

Once, twice, and again, to imagine and hope I have it to do over again