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Posts Tagged ‘driving’

One in the Blizzard


 
 
following tire tracks in the snow
the whole world
reduced to two lines

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One on the Way to the Airport

mama and I drive through
a desert of memories,
sometimes these old arroyos still flood

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At every opportunity
the man from Pakistan
brakes his own car and
waves his hand
to let the other drivers in.
One driver waves back.
Another offers an okay sign.
Another smiles and nods.
In this way, we go on.
His car is scented of oud,
sandalwood, musk and rose
as he carries humans
from one place to another.
He stops to let in the Jeep
on the right. The driver
joins us to move for a time
in the same direction.
In this way, we go on.

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There is no park.
Still, we park at the edge
of the road and look out
over the Hudson
beyond the thick trees,
inhale the yellowing
scent of autumn,
reach our arms up to the sky,
play chase around the car,
and laugh the whole time,
at first in disbelief,
and at last in surrender.
One more chance to meet
the world that is here
instead of the world
we expect. One more chance
find ourselves grateful
to be exactly where we are.

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“You might consider your own minor annoyances and turn one into a bell … let it be a bell to remind you to come back, and remember, soon all of this will be gone.” —David Keplinger, Another Shore (May 30, 2025)
 
 
And so today when the very slow driver
in front of me starts going ten miles
over the speed limit right when we get
to the passing lane, I imagine
my frustration is a bell. Instead
of calling him an idiot, as usual,
instead I think, Ding. Can you be
grateful to be alive right now?
Ding. Can you bless this body?
Delight in this canyon? Find joy
in the burgeoning green of spring?
Ding. Ding. Ding. Can you come home
to this moment and realize all belongs?
Even slow drivers who speed up.
Even your impatience. Ding.
Here’s your chance to imagine whatever
provokes you becomes a mindfulness bell.
There will come a time when you think
oh, what a lucky woman you were
to drive these roads at all. Could that time
be now? Ding. Ding. Oh that idio—. Ding.
Please, let him pull over. Don’t honk. Please.
Ding. Ding. Ding.

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Perhaps a valley. Surely desert.
Perhaps a mountain range over there.
Perhaps a whole rhythm of ranges.
Slot canyons, too. And a ribbon
of trees along where a river might be,
the leaves not yet yellow,
the limbs not yet bare.
But all I see beyond pavement
and white and yellow lines,
is thick black night and
a memory of years ago,
driving this same highway,
falling in love with the way light
and shadow played across the vastness.
Somehow I am alive both now and then.
As we wind and climb and curve
through the dark,
I carry that old light with me.

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I want to bottle it,
tonight’s drive
with my girl,
both of us singing
full voice,
so when I forget
how good it can be
in this world,
I can dab it
behind my ears
and inhale again
the joy of singing
through the dark
that brazenly,
that together.

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One Driving Home

long grey hem of highway  
each yellow dash a stitch
I’m ripping out

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the empty highway
stretches through the dark—
a music staff with one long note

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One Reunion with My Mom


 
 
while going seventy
we make of the car
a sanctuary

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