"The Ford Country Squire" Jane Hilberry

The Ford Country Squire

At ten, when the Rector’s

family asked me to their cottage,

I was thrilled.  I sat

with the suntanned children

in the backseat and ate

from their bag of chips. 

The windows were sealed

in the air-conditioned station wagon,

and some fresh air

would have been good —

how fast the trees pass, how strangely

the earth spins—

and I a fugitive

from my own godless family,

trying to join

this church, this life—

But the leaves on the trees

curled and I followed,

doubled over, my mouth

hopeless and open

and there, on the new-

smelling floor mat,

I rejected the transplant.

I left my mark. 

                           -JANE HILBERRY

                           "The Ford Country Squire" appeared originally in the online journal Ohio Edit