Published in Calliope by the Mensa Writer's SIG. Fall, 2021.
The boy skips ahead on the dirt road,
Impatient with an old man on a cane,
The dog bounding between us.
I point out the colors in the trees,
The hawk gracing a fence rail on the ridge,
The pink gathering in the west.
God’s artistry, I tell him,
Hoping he will remember.
But probably not.
And for a moment I imagine
This is still the country I grew up in.