Thursday, January 07, 2010

My Mother The Mountain

I drive along
pushing from 60 to 70 up to 80
and I close my eyes

I am driving by sound
and the feel of my tires running
in the tracks worn into the

my arms lock in front of me
and I feel the cool air blowing
of the mountain I am gliding down,
and I wish I was the mountain

eternal and eroding
solid and fragile
and I honk my horn occasionally
to warn any drivers nearby

I slide the car into neutral
and my right hand fumbles
on the steering column
and slides the key out

then I coast to your street
and your window is open
with that sad mystic music
dispersing into the neighborhood

I let my arms fall
but I don't open my eyes
and I think about that mountain
and its enduring wait

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