Interstate
Land. It's too much to process,
too expansive. Land unrolls
across the globe, a banner,
a scroll opening out in all directions.
Draw a portrait of all the ground,
and within it, scrawl some lines
that connect. Continents are already
sculpted. Land must be further shaped,
landscaped. Provinces, states, city limits,
our maps of them fit together so beautifully
because the framework was provided,
water and then not-water, shores and edges,
rocky, sure. But looking at the land as you
cross it is not like looking at a map,
a network of lines cleanly dividing
territories, cities sprinkled on top
like birdseed, breadcrumbs. When you
move along the ground from one state
into another, yes, there is a welcome-to-
blank sign. But what immediate signal
does the land provide? The air does not shift
in texture; bells don't ring and roads don't
break. The land sends up slow messages:
hazy as smoke, the outline of far-off mountains.
Hmmm.....interstate. I wonder if this post might be symbolic of some change from one place to another. And, I must warn you that the air does change in L.A.
ReplyDeleteLOVE seeing your photo, gorgeous you!
xoxo
You've turned your observations and reflections into another wonderful poem!
ReplyDeleteI loved your reference to birdseeds and breadcrumbs...how lovely in a strange and unique way.
ReplyDeleteYour poems always remind me to be a little more observant and to not miss the beauty of the everyday :)
Thanks!
Mina