End of the Road, CR 245
How the day’s fragments fade. One cloud,
a leaf. The horned toad scuttling across
the path. I am wondering what lies
beneath the flimsy topsoil, whether grubs
or beetles linger in their perpetual nights.
If I overturn that rock, will a scorpion’s tail
rise? Thunder strums my roof as I look
through the streaked window. Nothing
changes. You wanted that separate
peace, the one kept boxed in the drawer
for safekeeping. Foolish for having once
believed, for remaining in disbelief,
I step out into the rain, lift the rock.
“End of the Road, CR 245” was published in fall 2019 in the print anthology Through Layered Limestone: A Texas Hill Country Anthology of Place. I am grateful to editors d. ellis phelps, Lucy Griffith, Darlene Logan, Donna Peacock and Mobi Warren for taking this and three other pieces.
O at the Edges 
This one sorta haunts me … especially peace locked (separate) in a drawer … also the sense of acknowledging how little I actually know about where I am (today, any day) and what might be right beneath the surface. You offer encouragement to go peek under some of the obstructions. Maybe into a few drawers …
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I’m glad that I finally started lifting rocks to discover what lurked below. It wasn’t always a pleasant process, but it has ultimately worked out for the better.
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I’ve been reading and rereading this, Bob. I want to pick up the rock, look at it very closely, put it back exactly where it was. Nothing changes. I like peace in a box in the drawer….
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Thanks, Dan. One’s definition of peace does not necessarily match another’s. I learned that the hard way.
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