Diane M. Laboda | Traveler

Who will row that singular boat
that will take me home?
Will it be my beloved, or someone
with a guarded face—someone
who’s been there before? Home.

Will I know this traveler,
who comes faceless in dreams,
as my guide and faithful companion
across the still waters,
through the mist of doubt?

Will I know the place to meet him
or will my journey be secret,
one not written in atlases
of time, not marked on any
folded map tucked in my pocket?

Will I still be fearful of
the passing over as I am now,
or will hymns that I know
serenade me, will the light
be soothing, the breeze mellow?

Will I make peace with my mortal
soul, know that God has forgiven,
know that friends and family
have given grace to my passing,
showered me with sweet jasmine.

Will I be willing to take an oar,
when the traveler guide tires,
point us straight and true
and take the journey as another
adventure into the unknowing present.

Will I see all this coming and not
look back at a wasteland,
untouched, and unknowing
of my presence? Will I have done
enough good for a smooth passage?

© 2013 Diane M. Laboda

The Big Windows Review 5 (Fall 2013)

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