A Poem On a Monday

This is one of my favorite poems, and I'm including it today because it reminds me of the vibe and mystique I felt at Mark Kneeskern's reading this past weekend, where he read from his book The Last American Hitch-Hiker, Tales of Wander. I've taken a lot of road trips across the country, and this poem was inspired by the trip I took down through Colorado, across the southwest, and up Highway 1 to San Francisco, CA. I was 18 or 19 at the time, cruising in a minivan with the license plates that read "rolling" with good friends. Years later and the scenes we passed still clutched to my brain and inspiring a poem...

Summer Storm, New Mexico

Maybe you’re alone in the heat, driving

from one mirage to another,

the only certain thing—southwest,

where storm clouds gather their dark roots.

Brass and terracotta, blotches of sage,

more real than a voice in this slack light,

you’d think the world tipped here.

Dust held down by the weight of air,

and your body is weather, limber as

atmosphere, the breath of anywhere.

            A vulture makes a home for roadkill. 

So many breakings behind you.

Let stray dogs and wind bury them. Further on, a neon sign

offers promise—a cinderblock shack gives ground

to petrified wood, turquoise and whiskey,

postcard for a lover you can only wish for.

You stop because west deals rain, because

it’s the only sign you’ve seen for miles.

            The white-haired man inside hasn’t left

            for years, or he’s always been there,

born of the stale bone air. You order tequila,

a burn that will release you, pitch your chest

            forward into imagined dark.

            This is your body, alone,

and no one driving by would know you.

Outside, the road and cacti age in the absence

            of sun, explaining little, a kind of texture

you’ve come for.

One afternoon, name this—

your life.

-Casey Lord