I read this poem in my contemporary British literature class on Friday. If you have any thoughts about it, I would love to hear them.
The Road Home
By Gillian Allnut
It is the road to God
that matters now, the ragged road, the wood.
that matters now, the ragged road, the wood.
And if you will, drop pebbles
here and there
like Hansel, Gretel, right where
like Hansel, Gretel, right where
they’ll shine
in the wilful light of the moon.
in the wilful light of the moon.
You won’t be going back to the
hut
where father, mother plot
where father, mother plot
the cul de sac of the
world
in a field
in a field
that’s permanently full
of people
of people
looking for a festival
of literature, a fairy tale,
of literature, a fairy tale,
a feathered
nest of brothers, sisters. Would
nest of brothers, sisters. Would
that first world, bared now to
the word
God, wade
God, wade
with you, through wood, into the
weald and weather
of the stars?
of the stars?
