Homer’s Funeral Home

Amy Genova


Restless Indiana sojourners

marooned on I-69

argue, cuss and complain,

like Circean bears or swine.

The crash commutes an hour

into an odyssey. Ruins plans.


One young couple, screwy

from the steaming lotus

of stalled cars, crank up

their radio, exit out

of their car to dance. 

Others cast a bored eye

on a farmhouse, anchored

off-road by a swing set

and a cemetery,

small as a thumb.


An invisible child swings.


Telemachus—Penelope’s only

son.  He pumps his swing

as high as heat waves

over the soft pitch of highway.

High as the lofty hills

beckoning from Ithaca or high

as a siren-sister’s mad-song.


No matter. All children let go.

Unseen or not.  Sail with wax

wings above corn rows, cars

and finally over the frail fence.

To land in tiny boats of earth,

which swallows all time and all

travelers. Even Odysseus,

of the many designs,

washed up in the wreck ahead.




Amy Genova lives in Muncie, Indiana.  She is married, has two children, one zoo animal and a garden.  Other publications include Caprock Sun, Humpback Barn Collection, and the Homestead Review.