What is the reason
you’re canceling his membership?
asked the AAA representative.
Because he’s dead,
I said, my voice flat
as the stiff plastic card
with my son’s name on it.
I’m so sorry,
said the woman.
Thank you, I said,
determined to stay composed.
But I found myself at a threshold
with one foot in the past
when my son had just learned
to drive and was proud
to be a safe driver,
and one foot in the present
reciting the numbers
of my credit card
to pay for the membership
that no longer includes him.
Around the fifth number,
grief was a lug wrench
lodged in my throat
and I could not speak
through my tears.
I’m sorry, I said.
Take your time, she said.
It took me three tries
to get through the digits.
The number had become his smile
as he polished the headlamps.
The number had become his pride
in driving me to the store.
It was his hands on the wheel,
his glee in the curves, his finger
tapping the dash in time
to a cheeky country song.
How is it a memory so beautiful
can crumple me like a fender
hit by a semi at the same time
it floods me with joy?
God, he was happy
when he was driving,
his foot on the accelerator,
and all that road waiting
to be explored.
Posts Tagged ‘driving’
Cancelling the Membership
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cars, death, driving, grief on May 18, 2022| 11 Comments »
News of the War
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged driving, ice, news, ukraine, war, winter on February 25, 2022| 7 Comments »
The newscaster speaks
and beneath you
the floor becomes ice
and the world
is speeding
on balding tires
and the moment
is the highway
and all is fishtail
and the brakes
are useless now—
and the cliff so close
and you brace
against nothing
and the only way
to correct a slide
is to turn
into the slide—
Emily Dickinson in Houston
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged driving, emily dickinson, love, traffic on June 1, 2021| Leave a Comment »
And as I merge onto the interstate
with its ten lanes of traffic and
semis and tolls, Emily sits primly
in the back seat and doesn’t
say a word. She was a bit reticent
to come along—we’re a long way
from Amherst, after all—but
she admitted she was tired
of the New England weather
and longed for something new.
As it is, it’s raining in Houston,
and the puddles on the pavement
splash up onto the windshield
and I grip the wheel more tightly,
sensing Emily’s rising panic.
All around us cars weave
and unweave, changing lanes,
charging the world with an unbraiding
rush. Then she says in a voice so quiet
I can barely hear it beneath
the hum of passing cars,
I loved someone once. It felt
something like this. Beside us,
a siren wails. Yes, she says,
fisting the white skirts of her dress,
Yes, it was exactly like this.
Imagine
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged driving, meeting the self, moon on February 28, 2021| 1 Comment »
driving south
through the mountains
watching the moonrise—
and around each corner,
thrilling as it rises again, again, again,
feeling luckier each time—
meeting the self
like that
Going Home
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged book, character, driving, home, travel, ullysses on January 31, 2021| Leave a Comment »
Today I am so grateful
we are the characters
who go on a journey
and learn to find the bravest, best
and kindest versions of ourselves,
even when the road is beset
with Lestrygonians driving white Range Rovers,
especially when Charybdis tries to merge
into our crowded two-lane sea
after driving in the eddies of the emergency lane
to bypass the long lines,
yes, we are the characters who learn
that we are responsible for our own soundtrack
and must sing to meet each moment,
must be our own sirens calling ourselves
again and again and again
to crash only on our own shores
then sail on more carefully, more purposefully,
our song all the more joyful,
more determined, and yes, more alive.
Evolution
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, driving, evolution, mother, parenting on January 31, 2021| 6 Comments »
We drove seven hours,
and half the time it snowed
so I kept my eyes fixed
to the slushy road, but
there was the moment
when I looked at my girl
in the passenger seat
and fell in love in an instant
and stroked her hair
and she, catching my gaze,
offered me her open hand—
for this the first tetrapods evolved
in shallow and swampy freshwater,
for this the ichthyostega formed
arms and finger bones,
and for this, though it took
thirty-million years
of primate and homo sapien change,
for this we learned how to smile.
Driving with My Son the Night Before His Driver’s Test
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged driving, parenting, politics, togetherness, unity on September 29, 2020| 6 Comments »
We turn off the music. Practice left turns
onto the highway. Park on the bias.
Park on the street. We get gas.
Drive backwards. Use the median.
Change lanes. Use the blinker.
Slow down. Full stop.
There’s a rule for everything
and a comfort in knowing the rules.
“And you can practice everywhere,”
notes our DMV guidelines, “so have at it!”
Imagine if we all practiced everywhere.
If we all signaled before every turn—
turn of heart, turn of mind, turn of plans.
Imagine if we all agreed, no matter where
we’re going and no matter where we’ve been,
that we are all travelers on the same side,
knowing we’re on this road together.
Imagine if we agreed to stop in an orderly way—
no drama, no shaming, no blame,
so that someone else might take their turn to go.
Imagine, getting along with others,
no matter what they believe,
could be as simple as keeping it steady,
looking over your shoulder,
making eye contact in a crossing,
giving each other some space.
Backroads Anthem
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged driving, patience, road, road rage, road trip, sarcasm on August 18, 2020| 4 Comments »
Perhaps when I’ve lived long enough
that time and I have become good friends,
I will no longer curse at semi-trucks
going sloooow on the two-lane highway.
No, I will simply drive fourteen miles under the speed limit
and happily harmonize with the oversexed songs on pop radio
and notice how beautiful the swirls in the red rock cliffs.
I will not imagine fitting consequences
for drivers who pass in no-passing zones.
I will simply say thoughtful little prayers for them
to protect them on their way
as they blithely jeopardize the lives
of every other human on the road.
And I’ll be so grateful for construction delays—
how they give me time to sit and reflect
about how happy I am to no longer be
the kind of woman who gets upset about traffic
and all the small-hearted dim wits
who don’t pull over when twelve cars are following them—
yes, it will be so nice to sit there beside the orange cones
with a smile on my face,
not ashamed at all that I used to be so bothered by it,
oh, remember that chapter?
I’ll be so amused I ever thought it was a problem
to creep an inch an minute for an hour and a half—
how lovely the slowness, the pace of patience,
my hands on the wheel, my foot humming above the brake.
Pulling Off I-70 Between Grand Junction and Denver
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged driving, quietude, solitude, stillness on June 24, 2020| 5 Comments »
I want to linger at the side of the road
where the dark birds sing into the eddies of dawn,
yes linger in the low-angled light, in the big-hearted shadow
that blankets this bend in the canyon. Though I have many
miles to drive before I arrive, let me stay here
a while beside the river, still for a willowy moment, the water
the only thing moving. How many landscapes do I pass
without meeting them? How many worlds do I miss
as I rush from one here to the next? Oh bless this
quiet, where there is no hum of highway, no rumble,
no center line, no blur. Why do I so seldom linger,
my bones full of rush and current. In this moment,
I remember how deeply I love the stillness of rocks
that haven’t moved for a thousand years, the calm
of the dirt that has nowhere, nowhere to go.
Driving with Socrates
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged driving, poem, poetry, present moment, Socrates, time on January 23, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Enjoy yourself. It’s later than you think.
—Socrates
And so Socrates says, Enjoy yourself,
and I tattoo those two words
into my thoughts, but then, no matter
what the clock says, no matter
what the mirror says, no matter
what Socrates says, I tell myself,
I am right on time.
Like the moon, which this morning
still hangs in the west as the sky
all around it turns red.
The moon isn’t late, isn’t early,
isn’t anything but the moon doing
what the moon does. Do that,
I tell myself, staring at its light
as it drops through the rear view mirror,
at the same time keeping my eyes on the road.