Poem: Redding 50 Miles

Redding   50 Miles

A wild dark breath

courses the night air

and Karen sits by the window

waiting to catch it

Its rise and fall comes in the form of a

freeway, two in the morning

flat shadow farmlands scored by the

dirt road call of Christmas tree lights

Driving by fast she looks to the right

squeezes the shutter

strangers’ lives, hubbub motions in the

charcoal splash of TV light

One frame one glance and she,

shooting star of brake lights

steals three of their seconds

chewing them down

running north toward Chico

(Twenty miles west an old man sits on

tinder brown hills

flipping matches like startled flaming crickets

into the tall grass)

If you could flux from point to infinite

point along the interstate highway system

you might cease to exist

So sweet to find Mt. Shasta at your

starboard window like a

bright-eyed salesman

so easy to watch him go

A silver loop of keys

perches on the nightstand

and Karen sits on the bed

waiting to take them

She slips down the walk

a set of eyes from the bedroom window

one frame one glance one

subtraction

Karen reaches behind the shrubs

feels for the cord and

unplugs the Christmas tree lights

The darkness is so lovely.

First printed in The Montserrat Review

(San Jose, California)

From the collection Great Showtunes of the American Stage  

Photo by MJV