What you're missing is that the path itself changes you. (Julien Smith, The Flinch)
Are we there yet?
my child voice calls from the past.
And I recall waves of heat
on the road ahead, illusions of invisible fire
as my dad drives toward them.
Are we there yet?
a younger brother repeats
as the road continues
past neat rows of corn.
And cows, a rare sight for a city child.
Are we there yet?
my siblings and I wonder.
We’ve asked too many times.
And now I watch
a different road. My beyond grown
wrinkled hands grasp the steering wheel.
“You really are old,”
my honest granddaughter says.
And we pass the full summer
beauty of leaves soon to ripen red
and drop.
My granddaughter and I
laugh as the light turns green.
Are we there yet?
I answer a long-ago child.
You were already there.
(pic taken from public domain photo)
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terrypetersen 