Part II
17 May, 2010
Rain and cold-front
all across Virginia.
My engine gnashes teeth
and bucks—broken motor mount.
Clutch hangs on by a thread.
Leaving Eastville just past sunrise
rain starts. Picks up across the Bay.
White-caps, degrees of gray between
waves and empty beachfront.
Patches of solid sky before
Richmond; downpour on 295.
Tall splashes when wheels
grind with pocked concrete—
the city has no funds immediately
available for repair.
Charlottesville. Light rain,
but I’m stuck in the wake of
a US Foodservice truck. The
exits approach and my stomach
is in my throat as I wonder
29 North or 29 South?
Rain in Front Royal. Later, she’ll lie down
twisting curls around a finger,
grinding at antacids until she steps out
into the night, feeling mist gathering
between her collar and the warm skin of her neck.
I watch the North exit pass with the rest of
Charlottesville. The mountains heading South
are taller, darker. The speed limit drops to 55.
Rain makes the oxidized paint
of the hood look brand new.
Back in Eastville, just off Savage Neck,
the Osprey unfolds its tailfeathers,
leans into the wind, wings spread wide
behind it. The young ones will look on
blind with delirious hope.
Tonight, I’ll fall asleep with a name
that brushes soft against my lips
until I taste what it was like:
heavy thickness, visions of the James,
of highland cowpastures—dark shoulders
and lowered heads on sloping green.
Endless green.
In the streetlight outside, rain still falls.
Car tires pass through wet streets outside.