The High Road

We go along tumbled and trapped

in our four-seater

swatting at the hornet that flew in.

His life is now on standby

until the next stop.

Silence fills the space with chilly

air-conditioned breaths.

I reach for my sweater slowly

killing time.

I don’t remember the roads we took

that lead us here.

They were uneventfully

paved and flat

when we started west,

gradually leading us into unknown territory.

A dense fog in Iowa

stranded me at the wheel

before the encroaching blinding mist 

as the console separated us.

I was alone as you slept.

The Rockies gave way to switchbacks

on roads washed out

by flash floods.

Looking down a cliff,

which once supported the road,

I let go of half

of what had consumed my fragile vase

that nearly cracked on a few sharp turns.

The other half

will remain dormant.

We slowed to a near stop

winding around another rock slide

when I opened my window

and let the hornet out

into the crisp pine air

of the foothills.

Continuing on the high road,

our chosen detour,

a pile of lost pages

from old atlases were left

strewn about

in the back seat.

© 2013 d.c.p.