Wyoming, 1952
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| (Found here) |
when seat belts were a luxury, unsought,
my older brothers took the window seats
while I hung forward into the grownup space
my feet on the hump down the center of the floor.
This is how I learned what I needed
about survival, about us, about the natural order,
Father behind the wheel, Mother reading maps,
comfortable talk passing like fence posts
ordinary as sage brush.
Just a still point in the rushing panorama.
For all I knew I could be anything I might imagine
aiming along the hood’s raised spine
down the straight black highway
that opened into the future a mile a minute
reaching all the way to a horizon
always just a few more giant strides ahead.
~James Zoller
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