Into the blue

 

Your voyage began in sunshine
Crisp as the chips in the old truck’s beverage holder

You sped through the rain
And the storming weather fields of honeydew air

You pounded the steering wheel
And screamed my name

With a passion you held in your diaphragm all those years
Peeps of which I could only see in the dark, by the curve of our hipbones

I have been gone away, in search of those who use their tongues
and hands to speak a clear and different language

Now,
now you have learned to translate

Wishing for sons
As I float in sapphire seas

And you drive through the twilight
Counting telephone poles and blisters

 

 

 

Sarah Bigham teaches, writes, and paints in Maryland where she lives with her kind chemist wife, their three independent cats, an unwieldy herb garden, several chronic pain conditions, and near-constant outrage at the general state of the world tempered with love for those doing their best to make a difference. A Pushcart nominee, her poetry, fiction, and nonfiction have appeared in Bacopa, descant, indicia, The Quotable Rabbit, Serving House Journal, Touch, and other great places for readers, writers, and listeners. Find her at www.sgbigham.com.