The Drive from Boone to Chapel Hill — Zach Chitwood

The road runs through Carolina cedarwoods
Till the mountain ridge is no longer seen.
I’d go to Pamlico Sound if I could.

Highway hymns ring melodious Fleetwood.
Shrubs line tobacco road January green.
The road runs through Carolina cedarwoods.

The man with peaches moves me to childhood—
Fresh summer produce and melted ice cream.
I’d go to the White Lake docks if I could.

The snow-covered hills are misunderstood,
So are the piedmont plains filled with soybeans.
The road runs through Carolina cedarwoods.

The red brick of campus lays like crisp blood
Bound by the silk white of wild cherry gean.
I’d go to Sapphire Valley if I could.

A man picks banjo on Franklin, preparing for angelhood.
Eyes closed—must be praying—his face calm and clean.
The road runs through Carolina cedarwoods.
I’d go all the way down to Pamlico Sound, if I could.