Though I typically write very short poems, today I thought I’d share a longer piece:
Route 26
The old boat lies marooned in a dusty field miles from any real water. And across this sleepy stretch of highway, two trucks are busy becoming part of the landscape. Rusting down to dust, weeds where once there were engines. Perhaps these three have become friends over time, swapping stories of the glory days over the heads of passersby like me. Tales of youthful vigor and new paint, of lost loves and weathered storms. Though, I must admit, it is possible there were never any glory days at all. That after the briefest tastes of water and speed, these fields and this dust are all the glory they have ever known. Perhaps they have quietly collected the noble years together, speaking only softly of humble things. Sharing the burden of the plateau sun, and at night dreaming of the open road, and of the sea.
Petra says that much of my poetry is “cozy-sad,” which is possibly the greatest ever compliment and a perfect definition for melancholy. It also succinctly describes a feeling I’m often trying to capture.
I really love a little cozy-sadness now and then — it’s like eating a salted caramel or a sour candy. It reminds me that my joys are fragile and ephemeral, which helps me truly savor the sweetness of life.
And I once got a very palpable, very sudden sense of the brevity of my life while driving past two old trucks and a broken boat. The moment took my breath away, so I tried to capture it in a poem.
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Thanks for reading,
~ A
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I just read the poem again. I like it even more second time round.
Really beautiful. I think maybe the most important skill for a poet is the ability to simply notice things. Everything you share here demonstrates that skill.