Some days,
only the sight of the open road
is enough to calm me down.
Focusing on that yellow line
dividing the world
into coming and going,
arriving and departing,
escaping or remaining,
I am reassured
that the choice is still mine to make.
The voice to acknowledge or ignore
is still my own.
Even the skies
have been parted.
I can go anywhere
in this painfully beautiful life
when the red-winged blackbird calls.
Here is not the end.

By Wren Pearson, Pownal

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