Get Away: A Pandemic Road Trip
March 25, 2020
Sometimes I just need to hold the wheel to feel in control.
I slam the door and turn the key and off we go.
Hate to drive but see me in the passenger seat
willing pines to transform into palms
as husband steers saying look at the rain.
Vistas untrammeled by fear— the lure of the endless
road, empty and clean, and the weightless air.
Windows washed with rain, clouds reaching for
the heavens, rainbows to the end of forever.
Gravel churns on an asphalt highway, windows
open to warm wind, past wheat fields
of memory. Headed to Hawaii
because it’s far away from here, and waterfalls
wash me clean. Rain on lava hisses steam;
plumeria scents midday dreams.
Windows down, warm breezes help palm trees
tickle the sky. As I round the curve the sun
sizzles in the hair of the broken pine.
Often I like to drive
to San Francisco and see the Golden Gate bridge,
smell the ocean while birds fly above
clear blue skies. Jump in my car
with no loaves of bread. Sorry ducks.
The rose garden is ready to bloom! Over
the wooden bridge I go,
around the lake ten times.
Sun shines through
the century-old trees. Passing
Joshua with arms reaching
to the heavens and Old Man Yucca bent
over with age. Sometimes you need
to whisk your spouse away
for wind therapy, Zeppelin, and the mountains…
to see my identically twin grandchildren.
Redundant but delightful!
Fairmont Park awaits our return.
I spy less traffic as I dash
during the senior happy hour at the market.
And through it all, we grow old.
We are born blind; I’ve come to take you home.
by Ruth Bavetta, Julianna Cruz, Lynn Doiron, Janine Pourroy Gamblin, Stephanie Barbe Hammer, Debby Johnson, Judy Kronenfeld, Jessica Lea, Kris Lovekin, Doug McCulloh, Cindi Neisinger, Magdalena Nunez, Cati Porter, Dar Stone, David Stone, Gudelia Vaden, and Frances Vasquez.
Original promp: Let’s imagine we are going for a car ride. Where are we going? What do you we see, hear, taste, touch, feel? Who are we with?