Poet-Journal January 6, 2012

I would one day

take a long walk

along the road

near our home

until the road 

becomes 

Odysseus's oar,

only I am the one

asking what it is,

never having

seen this place.

Penelope would 

not weep,  nor 

would suitors

importune,

for somehow

I am always 

wrecked on 

my own doorstep

in good time.

Smiling, she

opens the door

and lets me

back in.