The opposite direction

The Minnesota girl still lives inside me.  When I ask for directions or opinions, and I know the other person is wrong, I still have the need to explain to that person why he or she is most likely wrong.  I hope for clearer understanding.  Sometimes it works.  Most often, it doesn*t.

I walked and climbed all night

In my dreams.

My daughter,

It seems,

Had possession

Of the car.

Halfway up a hill

I asked a familiar-looking stranger

The location of a particular street.

The stranger,

A woman with long blonde hair,

The stranger,

She stood

At the bottom of the hill.

She told me to walk

In the opposite direction.

I knew she thought I spoke

Of a different street

In a far-off suburb.

I do not live there

Anymore.

I slipped and slid down the hill

So I could explain why

She did not understand.

She patted my hand,

Encouraged me

In the opposite direction.