Resurrection Road–Jeff Burt

Resurrection Road

 

I took a wrong turn, took Resurrection Road

and half-expected an uphill rise

 

but the fields kept sinking on both sides,

first a hint of standing water, muck,

 

then long spears of grass that covered

algae pools and coots tipped over,

 

open pools where egrets waded

and water seemed to brim right at the line

 

the gravel made.  I turned around,

but wondered if we’d had it wrong,

 

that we must sink ourselves into the dirt,

the soil, that our second coming

 

is to rise in a new body of grain

milled by the eager beaks of geese,

 

to rise in a new body of pickerelweed

hiding the three newborn ducks.