Hello, and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Katya at
Write. Sketch. Repeat. for Roundup. This is my last post before my WILD 10 Year Blogiversary Celebration, coming Monday, November 9! Actually, the link will go live Sunday evening. Along with all the WILD links, I'll be sharing
14 Things I've Learned from 10 Years of Blogging. I'm excited!!!
Today I have for you an original poem. Last month I attended My Favorite Poem, a community poetry reading here in Birmingham in which folks share their favorite poem and why it's important to their lives. One high school student shared
"When the World Was Ten Years Old He Fell Deep in Love with Egypt" by Patricia Lockwood -- and I fell in love with using the world as a way to write a poem. The very next day I wrote this poem about our 15 year old son who is the world and our youngest son and who has already passed his driving test and is waiting for The Day to arrive when he can officially drive off into the sunset... without his mother beside him.
When the World
Learned to Drive (for Eric)
- after Patricia
Lockwood
When the world
learned to drive
he started on back
roads, trim
neighborhood
streets, his eyes
watchful for trash
cans and cats.
At first his foot
came down hard,
his hands slick
against the wheel,
right turn right
turn right turn
until he was thank
God, back home.
When the world
learned to drive,
he grinned at stop
signs,
their bold-print and
eager faces
familiar as his
reflection,
and equally as
maddening –
until he learned the
feather-art
of rubber sole
easy-easy
against rubber
pedal.
When the world
learned to drive
he couldn't wait to
take the interstate.
He dreamed of long
ramps
and fast, smooth
mergings,
was unruffled by the
whoosh
of semi trucks or
the red Mustang
rushing his back
bumper.
The world simply
thumbed the wheel
and adjusted his
rearview mirror.
And then there was
no stopping him:
he craved city
traffic, stop-and-go,
cloverleafs and
flyovers.
His faith steamed
like asphalt
after a summer
shower, he studied
maps for sinkholes
and mountains,
strapped himself in
and didn't look back.
Not soon enough he
learned
to navigate Highway
280,
it's ant-lines and
zipper lines and no lines
a language he could
understand:
hip-hop lyrics,
piano, drumbeat –
with a little reggae
thrown in.
To celebrate, the
world bought
four pair of
sunglasses,
kept both hands on
the wheel.
Didn't text while
driving, or eat,
or cry, though
sometimes the sunset
was so beautiful he
had to clear his throat.
The world was a good
listener,
had always been a
good listener.
He believed each
yellow light
was a message from
God –
sometimes, Hold
On, sometimes, Let Go.
He knew and his
mother knew
and every song he
would ever write knew
that there was a
road
somewhere with his
name on it,
and if there wasn't,
the world would build it.
- Irene Latham
Rain.
