MANSION BY Nancy Simpson

MANSION

Forget you heard it, Rural Life Workshop,

mountaineers saying there is no Appalachia.

Forget the woman who asked

Where did she come from?

and being an outsider, forget

you wanted to walk through the window.

Came from the ocean, should have said,

but no, you behaved; that is the main thing,

and listened all day to their speeches.

No one knew you hoped Jim Miller would speak

with his accent, how you wished he would

take up his good book and read.

Driving up the gravel road

all you have is belief.

This is where you wanted to go.

Leaves fall like flecks of gold.

The road is paved with yellow leaves.

It's home.  Still,

this is not Heaven.  The door is locked.

The windows are dark like eyes of an old woman.

Go in.

Walk through the wall if you want.

Previously published in Step Around the Mountain,

Black Jack Twelve.

Included in Night Student