I did not go to Nashville looking for you.
Why I went there is not important.
Where I went is not important.
When I got there has nothing to do
with my poem.
On my way back from Nashville,
you were in my head.
I could not shake you out
like apples from the trees
outside my grandparents’ house.
It was so long ago
that I helped my grandfather
rob the bees.
How thick and sweet that honey was
and the bees did not sting.
Distracted driving kills,
but I was not distracted.
On the way back from Nashville,
I was looking for you in my head.
I heard your voice.
It was as plain as it was
the last time you said goodbye.