"But first, baby, as you climb and count the stairs (and they total the same), did you, sometime or somewhere, have a different idea?
Is this, baby, what you were born to feel, and do, and be?"

-Kenneth Fearing

Friday, September 10, 2010

September Drive


Everyone on the road tonight

is nodding at the wheel.

The darkness is a vapor settled on

the windshield. Headlights can’t pierce

the fog that swallows daylight, pulls

away the hours much too early.

I have this conversation with

myself. Night on the Everett

Turnpike will not listen; its silence, more black

than the tar. I’m wedged between shades of

darkness. From the passenger’s seat,

you trust me to know where I am

going and would listen if I turned

to you and said, “It’s dark tonight,”

or “I think I’ve been lost since

the morning I was born,” and if

I said “The night is a raven’s

eyelid, closed.,” tonight, on this road,

you could get it.

you’d give me a look that says, “No,

that isn’t crazy.” The other

cars traveling this stretch of road,

mercifully, are quiet, except

for their wheels pulling up against road;

another mile- another mile- another mile

towards home.

      -Brent Allard