Joanna Magill
I know every twist and turn
On the road from my grandfather’s house.
He lives at the end of an odyssey,
Across mountain, lake and time.
I climb into the car
And settle into uneven transience
As whispers of whistles echo in my skull.
We become pilgrims, my father and I;
Battling diversions and trains and country lanes.
We carve our path
With hymns and petrol
And the world becomes urgent, blurry.
But when lights jump from green to red
I see patchwork fields sprinkled with livestock
And glowing lilac in the august light.
The moon begins her relentless pursuit
And heavy eyes give way to
street-lit dreams.
Sleep.
The sharp turn nudges me
And leaden eyelids struggle open.
I feel the hump and swell of fresh tarmac
And know that I am home.
Photo by Sam Dineen
The Jumble 