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by Meredith C HartwellToday, I took the long way:
the route I used to get to you.
I told you that I'd finally learned to love
a drive.
You wanted to feel that, too.
I lead you through the twists and turns,
maybe a little too fast,
heart dropping and racing,
tires squealing, lifting a little,
afraid to tap the brakes.
Maybe a little too fast,
wanting desperately to impress.
"What a rush!" you cheered.
I wondered if I could keep up
with your pace.
Riding shotgun the next trip,
I played navigator.
"Here, the road drops out --
there's a pothole on the next bend --
accelerate through that turn --
you don't need to slow down on this hill --
just like that."
I drove barefoot and headstrong,
mileage be damned,
over fallen leaves and wet asphalt
gravel trails and dancing trees in the moonlight.
I crashed but never burned.
All these paths are paved now.
Our potholes are gone.
My tree fell after a few hurricane seasons.
The ride is smooth and without interruption.
I stop to remember.
Sometimes, I miss the bumps in the road. 10/09/2013 Author's Note: First poem worth posting in over three years. I run the risk of over-punctuating.
Posted on 10/10/2013
Copyright © 2025 Meredith C Hartwell
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 10/11/13 at 12:14 PM I think when love is quelled somewhat or just plum retired, it is the bumps in its road we remember best and miss the most. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 10/12/13 at 05:03 AM Often, if not usually, the bumps in the road are what make the journey worth traveling. Excellent read, and thanks for sharing this Meredith. |
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