There were nights when my son
would come to me late, like midnight,
and say, Mom, come on, let’s go drive.
And though I was tired, and though I knew
the canyon roads would make my stomach turn,
I’d say yes, because I was glad he’d ask,
and we’d get in the Ford and I’d feel the thrill
as it flooded him each time he’d sit at the wheel.
The night was our cathedral.
And we’d talk, or we wouldn’t, and he’d drive
us up to the top of the Dallas Divide.
I’d feel like heaving my guts every time. But damn,
how I loved those nights. The hymn of the wheels.
His smile. His laugh. The quiet canticle of breath.
No matter what choices came later,
I have those times he steered toward joy,
Those nights when we were so alive
and we’d drive, just drive.
Posts Tagged ‘car’
I Bless Every Yes I Said
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged car, grief, loss, mother, son, yes on January 20, 2022| 13 Comments »
These Days When the Veils Are Thin
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged car, death, grief, mother, son, stars, vision on October 28, 2021| 3 Comments »
Leaning into the vastness
of the star drunk sky,
my heart a vehicle,
to my surprise
I heard a small click,
like the sound of a car door
opening,
and your voice,
Mom, hop in.
Let’s take a spin.
I startle, as if
waking from a dream,
heart pounding,
astonished to find you
in the driver’s seat
as you love to be, and me
just one yes away
from a joy ride
through the universe,
if only I can find
the door.
On International Kindness Day
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged car, engine, kindness, power on November 13, 2020| 6 Comments »
Kindness went out and got itself
a new engine—a four-hundred horsepower
twin turbo 3.3 liter V-6 engine.
Something with real oomph.
Something that provides a bit of giddy-up
when the loving gets tough. Turns out
kindness likes horsepower.
A lot of horsepower. Plus it sprung
for direct fuel injection to maximize
its power output. Everyone thinks
kindness prefers things quiet and calm,
but kindness is ready for action—
ready to take on the world,
ready to travel every back road,
every highway, every main street
and get this ever-loving show on the road.
There’s a whole lot of loving to do.
The Guru Said Stop Putting on the Brakes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged car, dream, flow, freedom, poem, poetry on September 22, 2019| Leave a Comment »
from a dream inspired by Sharon
And I tried. I tried.
Except steep hills. Except
stop signs. Except fear.
Then one day,
the brake simply
didn’t work anymore.
I thought perhaps
I’d forgotten which pedal
was the brake.
I tried flooring the pedal,
anyway, though I knew
it wouldn’t work.
At first, I hated it. Was terrified,
really. Then—right through
the intersection,
right down the steepest hill—
there it was, I was in it,
the flow, the flow.
After Talking to My Teacher, I See the Invitation
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged car, failure, invitation, Joi Sharp, letting go, poem, poetry, teacher on July 12, 2019| 2 Comments »
What wants to happen?
—Joi Sharp
Today it is the tow truck
that leads me back to myself.
For though I call the driver
and though I receive
a text that says he is coming
and though I have paid
my AAA bill on time, the tow
truck does not arrive.
Though I did everything right.
Though the same actions have worked before.
Still the world has not turned out
the way I expected, the way
I want it to. The car
is still stranded. The tow truck
is still not here. Oh failure,
how clearly it shows my attachment
to outcome. How clearly it
shows me the world is in charge.
I look for more doors to knock on,
try to plan more ways to control.
Meanwhile, I am the door.
Meanwhile, this chance
to let go.
How Could I Have Just Now Noticed?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged car, control, poem, poetry on May 17, 2015| 3 Comments »
no wonder my feet
never reach the brakes—
all this time
trying to drive
from the passenger side
Wild Rose Goes for a Drive with God
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, availability, car, poem, poetry on February 8, 2014| 1 Comment »
But first, she takes a few slugs of absinthe.
The pale green thrill of it blazes in her throat.
God walks in just as she finishes her glass.
God finishes the bottle. Then he says,
Are you nervous? Wild Rose doesn’t hesitate
to say, No way. I am ready for anything.
God says they’re going for a spin.
Wild Rose doesn’t care where. All she wants
is for God to show her a real good time. And
she is open to what that means. Here,
says God, as they arrive at the car,
climb in. He opens the driver’s seat door for her.
She pours her long legs in. There’s no brake, she sees.
No rear view mirror. No reverse. No safety belts.
A big back seat. Oh yeah, she says, and revs the engine.
The night smells like licorice, like sweat.
It Was Something about Hungry
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged car, darkness, daughter, mom, mother, night, poem, poetry, window on January 19, 2012| 5 Comments »
In the backseat,
Vivian says, Mom,
I want to know
the darkness,
and so rolls down
her window
and shouts,
Hello Night!
And then she
whispers something
to the air
that I can’t hear
though I strain
against the rush
of road noise
to decipher her words.
The conversation belongs
to her, though, and
to the night, and to
the window that
already she has learned
to open herself.