The Beginning

The road calls

its whispering song

as early trucks whine,

red-shifting down the highway,

past the heavy curtains

of our room.

But we’re ready,

early risers,

eager to begin.

The motel lot is already alive,

as sleepy travelers

coffee steam rising

with the morning mist,

dream of going

to the coast,

to the mountains,

to the desert

To glittering Las Vegas,

Going

to see all the places

In the thick triple A book,

following sure, red lines

on bright, creased maps,

but on my dark dashboard

the glowing GPS,

polite, sure girl

leads the way.

This road has called us

over and over,

and this time

we are going

east,  into the rising sun,

as bright white lines flash

like years in our headlights,

quickly forgotten

and always another

flying into another

never looking back

to see where we were

only seeing now

as this now blurs

into the next now

and the future

never really

is.

But such philosophy

can be dangerous

at 75 miles per hour,

so turning on the radio

we glide down I-5.

It’s a fast road,

but straight as a

boring dream,

until, beyond Bakersfield,

crossing the

high eastern limit

of the great, green valley,

suddenly we break free

into the dry Mojave,

into a space so wide

that the pink, morning sky

arches its bright back

all the way

to space.

Time itself

could get lost here,

but not us!

Time never had a GPS girl

course-correcting,  

cheerful  guide

to lead us

on our summer’s journey

across wide America.

(7/10/2010)