Where to Turn Next


A sudden deer on my ride home
from work needing a way back to all
that has been lost: forests to condos,
the local orchard, 20 acres of autumn,

now high-end boutiques. And I see
through the buck’s eyes surveying
where to turn next. A doe walks from
the edge of the forest into the road to

join him. They stand, halting rush hour
as if the way to the past is down these
two lanes. Second star to the right, and
straight on ’til morning.*

*The last sentence of this poem was borrowed from the children’s story entitled Peter Pan.