The Space Between
She remembers riding, being driven
from county to county on state roads
from county to county on state roads
two blue-black lanes cut through
cornfields, no houses, trees, or towns,
cornfields, no houses, trees, or towns,
no radio or mixtape
in the old car
only their words, only
talk.
Or maybe they did not like the same music.
He liked disco; she liked hip-hop.
He liked disco; she liked hip-hop.
Fifteen years after, she mourned John’s death;
he did not even own one Beatles CD.
he did not even own one Beatles CD.
She didn’t know what was there
beyond the car, the road, the books they’d read,
beyond the car, the road, the books they’d read,
in-house gossip, the stars he knew but she didn’t,
the drive to Indy or Champaign.
the drive to Indy or Champaign.
She didn’t know about the trees
or the wildflowers she was not seeing.
or the wildflowers she was not seeing.
To her friend, this was still the East,
only twenty four hours’ drive from the coast
fueled on Diet Coke and cigarettes
bought at Wal-Mart on Route 26.
only twenty four hours’ drive from the coast
fueled on Diet Coke and cigarettes
bought at Wal-Mart on Route 26.
Having left home, she imagined
that she was changing
in the space between, going someplace
that she was changing
in the space between, going someplace
different from where she’d been.
She shook her newly red hair then.
She shakes her short brown hair now.
She shakes her short brown hair now.
Back East again,
she puts on her glasses
as if to see all that
she had missed:
the abandoned
farmhouses,
the yellow and red
marigolds that outlast
trees and walls, crumbling brick towers,
people who emerge from whitewashed storefronts
people who emerge from whitewashed storefronts
in someone else’s online photographs
of all that grows in the space between.
Interesting poem, Marianne. I like reading it, imagining you, imagining a persona, and enjoying the mystery. Takes more than geography doesn't it, to make that kind of change.
ReplyDeleteWell done, my friend.