Rough Road
It didn’t matter how far she drove.
The memory of that day was like
a stick jammed under the bumper,
dragging through the ruts in a muddy road.
But she kept driving.
Eventually the stick would be
scrubbed down by the grit and ruts
until the frayed remains no longer left a mark.
Copyright 2019 – Laurie Marshall
This poem is being posted as part of the #100dayproject. Find out more here.
