Hidey Hole

by Merrie Miller

It's warm in Aiken, this South Carolina Hidey-hole
Warmer still on the other side of the door I open wearily
Journeying out onto pavement and spring sonatas
It's quiet here, no traffic sounds
Like Montana of my supposed youth
Could be jetlag or euphoria born of tempest grief
That makes me believe the plain mockingbird
Reels off lovely stolen chortles and trills for me
Flies from leafy tree to next along my determined path
Brushing past a cardinal not too close
Shock of red against dull mottled browns and grays
Nature's eye candy offers little song
Who conjured up the name Win Dixie I wonder
So proud are they of long ago strife
What must they think of us who loved a child
Not the lightest crayon in the box
Java is my reward at journey's end
To keep me moving through the foggy nightmare
I can see his face behind the glass
Only two quarters to grieve my soul
It's the headlines and images that maraud through the vessels
And Carve maniacally at my bloodied heart
As it lay wrapped there-in
His little face does not belong on journalistic venues
Life of my life gone
Won't someone tell me where God is hiding
So he can unwrap the headlines slowly and thoughtfully
As not to lose even one piece of my shattered heart