TWO POEMS
By Pat Anthony
Between Two Cities on a Greyhound Bus
Between Two Cities on a Greyhound Bus
I get homesick
recall the nightmare
bunched covers rolled against the wall
around a body I’d never seen
before that sent me gathering
baby Nellie
with a finger
to my lips running,
running on tiptoe down
the broken stairs,
past the bug eyed goat
into the ash woods
and onto this bus by myself
I keep smelling my grandmother’s third floor
walkup: ham and mayo
browning lettuce lingering
in the kitchen long after
we’d flushed the tomato
cores
An eight-at-night sun burns
through the bug spattered windshield
and I move outside
myself
hang suspended
above the western confluence
of the roiling Missouri
the Kansas river
get slammed to earth by smells
again: back yard barbecues
a shade too near
the odor of packinghouses
beneath these viaducts
another bus belching
blue diesel smoke,
and I’m still homesick
for something that’s not
this running
Gene Pools
Pat Anthony writes the backroads, often inspired by soil and those that work it. Using land as lens she mines characters, relationships and herself as a means to heal and survive living with bi-polar and anxiety disorders. A longtime educator, she holds an MA in Humanities Literature, Cal State, among others, poems daily, edits furiously and scrabbles for honesty no matter the cost. She has work published or forthcoming in Quail Bell, Tipton Poetry Review, Orchard Street Press, Red Wolf Journal, The Blue Nib and others. She blogs her poems at middlecreekcurrents.com.