Journey Poem

My mother drove this road first

Long before she became the woman I know

Uncertain on the curves, but hopeful for a destination

Watching the steady grace of the river roll onward

 

I hated this road for making me nauseous

For twisting on through the trees

For the silence of the endless scenery

For the gentle associations of boredom

 

Hot water springs and big-horned rams dotting the sweeping yellow hillsides Paradise just a town with two men in a log cabin, just a name on a map and the train trestle falls down over across the river, straight black and sure–

 

And when I was fifteen I drove this road

The long hours to the Idaho border

With slick palms and my heart lurching

My father’s harsh eye on the speedometer

 

When our lives began to crumble

Like handfuls of dry riverbank clay

The rush and the roar of our tires

Became an echo for the airplanes

 

Swift snow and a mountain pass climbing higher ever higher Spaghetti and lace curtains of the Red-Light District, listen, you can feel the ghosts of the mining days brushing your skin and the river running milky green pulling, always pulling–

 

Once I found an eagle feather

But my mother told I didn’t have the blood

To keep such a treasure and so I left it spearing the sky

My uncle lost his wedding ring in the gravel on the shore

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About mayafishsticks

Since I turned 20, it's all gone downhill.
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