Route 26

Poem No. 68

Though I typically write very short poems, today I thought I’d share a longer piece:

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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.

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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.

If you’d like to share this poem with someone, please do:

Thanks for reading,
~ A

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