Suddenly Signs

Suddenly signs along the way were new,
not seen before, but those too petered out.
Now he was on a route
             his own mistake
             made possible.

With which he could console himself: this was
America for him, he made a name
of his own Christian name
             as if misheard
             in a language

spoken here. He rolled the window down
however, to hear anything but wind sound.
He parked on a leafy bend,
             slammed all four doors,
             jangled his keys,

and strode until the water in the long grass
made him clogs for shoes, and two cold feet
to feel with. His shocked suit
             began to cling
             to everything.

Soon he was in a state of being sure
whatever happened happened for a reason,
that he had a destination,
             that the sole light
             in the spun trees

was lit for him. He made of his discomfort
armor, of his loneliness a choir
of wonder near and far,
             and the small house
             with the shone lamps

he made his own discovery. He meant
to cross the clearing to the open door
but in one step was there,
             and stooping down
             he entered in.

Glyn Maxwell
Virginia Quarterly Review
Volume 82, Number 3
Summer 2006

Copyright © 2006 by Virginia Quarterly Review.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

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