At five I lived for road trips:
How my mother would slowly pad downstairs
To creak open my door at four in the morning
With a gentle call that woke us up and beckoned
Us to the fresh dawn air and stars blinking out of sight
And saying goodbye while we said welcome to
Our next great adventure

I lived for my dad finishing packing up the last
Bags into the car his humorous grunt as
The trunk was slammed shut and we
Filed in, to our regular seats in the old truck

I lived for great icy winters and grandparent’s
Poodles in Montana while thoughts of the
gentle plains, roaming buffalo, and bear
Sightings in Yellowstone streamed in my and my brother’s minds
Like the great tumbling waterfalls we hiked through

I lived for dirt under our fingernails and
The smell of campfire sticking to our clothes in
Winter, Summer, Spring and then washing off
As the grand blue sky opens up and Oregon’s rains came with Fall

I lived in a child’s world, waited
for my father to come home every evening as
I knew he would, walking through the
Door with a jubilant step to his gait while
We just set down the last dinner plate
And the scent of grain, dust, machines, and
Science washed over me

I wanted to sit quietly and count the zooming
Cars pass by us while in the back of our old truck
listening to Stevens, Springsteen, and Simon serenade us
Through the crackly radio, the sounds of my child years

I wanted to sit quietly in the hospital room with
The doctors that screamed in their silences
And hold the paper thin hands that taught
Me how to ride my bike, rock climb, and multiply

A different sort of road and a different sort of ride.