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Zara
Raab Page 4
Interstates
Circling bright cities, we arc,
crisscrossing the curve of water
or
swooping down the ramp
from
101 to 80,
our
coursing, blinking lanes
leading one to another
like
veins pulsing with blood.
Night
transforms us. Travelers
become stars shooting low
on
the skyline, lost to
themselves, to the others
speeding by in the dark––
high
beams on dim, racing
mile
by mile to find
the
wet pavement, the black
macadam, soft and hot.
Bound
together, we rush
like
falls of water, as one,
accomplishing our arc
by
instinct, through pure drive.
On
and on, we travel,
the
Earth unfolding along
its
seams of rock and soil;
we
score the ground as we go,
not
knowing whether we’re
coming now or going.
published in the Santa Clara Review,
Winter Spring 2010
© Copyright,
2012,
Zara Raab. |