making your way down the center aisle
you take a seat in the back next to him
ride the quiet miles toward the hills of Tennessee
so that when he speaks
you already belong to the past
thirty seven years later
you will sit at your kitchen table late at night
think of him
the strange alchemy that brought you to that midnight bus
his dark hair in dim light
Your poem raises memories of bus rides and trainrides during which enigmas appeared and remained --mainly in the 1960's-- looking for America, finding people. My, how vividly the memories revisit. Powerful poem.
ReplyDelete"... looking for America, finding people." I like that. Thank you so much for commenting.
DeleteReminded me of a night trip on one of the old "Vista Domes" train cars back in the 60's, traveling from western Montana through Idaho and Washington. By the time I reached Seattle, I had a new love.
ReplyDeleteHow wonderful! So glad you shared that ... :)
DeleteI can't help it. Every time I read this, I'm reminded of "Midnight Train to Georgia." It's funny, our associations. We can't control them at all. They rise unbidden, and they will command attention. I suppose in a way that's exactly what poems do: capture our unbidden associations.
ReplyDeleteYes, exactly, and unique to each reader ... :)
DeleteI must have ridden the wrong buses. :)
ReplyDeletenot necessarily ... :)
DeleteIt is these memories that gives life texture. Yes?
ReplyDeleteYes ... :)
Delete