Walking (please critique if inclined)
The yellow blossoms held
like bright kites in the wind.
The morning was rain;
the skies were cloud, and precipice.
WeÂ’d have fallen inward
and parted like ocean waves,
but we held on, fingers wound together
as if we were lichen or kelp
bound to rocky surface,
green with light and chemicals,
caught in phosphorescent embrace.
Caught sticky limbed and huddled
under an archway on Sunset Hwy.
The Ford broke down
just before the Portland exit,
you gave it a few heartfelt kicks
with your workmanÂ’s boot.
I am a Ford under some distant lineage,
when old Belinda, HenryÂ’s sister,
her hands in driving gloves
and perched like black-birds
on the steering wheel, scared to fly.
The cars buzz by,
dizzying flies on the wall that is light,
flashing their iridescent wings
in our direction: flash, buzz, buzz
flash, we are signaled, distracted.
We are jealous of their fast running beauty,
the chrome that could be water
for the thirst we feel.
The need to be seated
and moving at the same time.
How odd that.
I never knew I would want to trade
my own two legs to buy a set of four
wheels, or that I would want to feel
myself artificial in the wind,
away from flower or bird;
air conditioned and goospimpled
under glint of windowed sun.
I never knew myself to be shallow waters,
or that night fall would scare me into quicker step,
into step. My feet are unaccustomed.
You decline to carry me,
I donÂ’t blame you
exactly, but I might come morning.
YouÂ’re heavy boots beat back the ground,
your footsteps look easy and comfortable.
The headlights of suburban vehicles collide under the stars.
Perhaps we are witnessing planets explode,
perhaps I am exploding,
and you have failed to catch me.
I heard of a girl
whose neck snapped in a car accident,
but only after sheÂ’d found another ride.
I wonder what make of vehicle she was driving,
and where she was headed.
What caused her to crash?
Maybe she was drunk on starlight.
I wonder if she noticed
the flowers on the roadside.
My feet collide with pavement,
you hold on and keep the pull,
pushing farther, faster.
The moon bends the clouds
and breaks them like it does the waves,
upon earthÂ’s shore. It is magnet.
We feel ourselves
move towards an end, and farther from this moment,
from the beginning of this moment.
We walk, parted by what rock
we had clung to, that car
with its easy atmosphere.
I canÂ’t remember
where we were headed anyway.