Kentucky wins me
with giant bookstores; ice cream;
and sweet niece faces
each night a red sun
to lull us to country sleep
on our road trip dream
summer
Day Twenty-Five, Road Trip 2016
cousin love beats all:
it spans a small continent
and breaks the divide
Day Twenty-Three, Road Trip 2016
three-storied row homes,
a riverfront fountain park,
DC’s a winner
Day Twenty-One, Road Trip 2016
a cultural mix
in language, architecture
(our country’s center)
library of all
holds too many gems to count
a sight for sore eyes
best of both worlds:
fusbol, patatas bravas
right here in DC
best of all worlds:
my family together, here,
discovering this.
Day Twenty, Road Trip 2016
in the man’s big house
they built him a three-room suite;
his children lived here:
remnants of slave life:
hard-hitting and far-reaching
(Black Lives Matter. Now?)
they dug up red clay
to lay every brick … by brick,
by breaking their backs
his famous status:
founder of freedom, writer
(declared our country)
brick by brick by brick
he laid his lies and kept his slaves
and wrote our future
and we swallow it
and throw coins at his gravestone
and try to forgive
they all shared this view–
from the big house; the slave house;
the land formed by God
and so we move on,
brick by brick by road by road
to see its beauty
Day Eighteen, Road Trip 2016
his hometown forest
waits for us with him in it:
the perfect campsite
Day Seventeen, Road Trip 2016
finally the bikes
double trouble, burning sun
made for a slow ride
but cousin time rocks
framed by wispy sand dune sky
and genuine grins
crawfish, anyone?
one last island shell cracking
to salt our way home
and we saw gators!
controlled, farmed, easy to feed
better there than here
Day Sixteen, Road Trip 2016
stairs can be scary
but with this amazing view
they are worth the climb
Day Fifteen, Road Trip 2016
everyone wins today
with sleeping in and reading books
and me fitting in a bike ride
on the way to the movies
(coastal views, zero elevation,
heat seeping through my new
jersey in a rushed attempt to
meet the time schedule)
and yet it hovers.
my vacation.
my vacation with friendly family,
getting-along-quite-well girls,
ocean views and coral reefs
and the best lake swimming there is
and …
no happy hour.
pedaling across those bridges,
sweating steps in Savannah,
making it through another day,
a blessed, lucky day on this earth…
and no drink to top it off,
to melt the anxiety that comes
with upcoming controversial family,
the stress that will be DC in July,
seeing my father-in-law slowly lose his mind;
no drink to bring brighter to life
the constancy of waves,
to further open my mouth for all
the thoughts i’m dying to share,
(to pour onto the page);
no drink to further relax my toes
into this cushion of sand,
my sore muscles into the clutch of alcohol,
my mind from the weight of the world.
and i say it again and again:
There’s always a reason…
and even on the perfect day,
the life’s a beach dream vacation day,
it. is. still. hard.
it is why i pedal.
why i write.
why i drive 6000 miles.
why i watch waves.
because the need to escape is real.
in all of us, no matter how picture-perfect our lives appear,
it is as real as this view, this beach, these toes.
but i made it.
i made it through another day.
and this poem is my happy hour.
Day Fourteen, Road Trip 2016
Girl Scout Headquarters
mixed with colonial wealth
(built on the slaves’ backs)
sometimes beauty’s marred
history’s hard to swallow
amid perfect squares
yet we walk through it
splashing, playing giant chess,
our steps going on
pieces of our past
even when they’re earned with blood
mark a clear future:
we can absorb this,
take pics, eat gator, and grin,
hoping we’ve moved on
(though the shadows know
of King Cotton, oppressed girls,
Sherman’s burning march)
we can’t have it all
the vacation, family… peace
without the whole truth
we can just love them
hope they never see the dark
(only the beauty)
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