Leaving Home
2002

Thule carrier strapped to the roof rack.
Cats in their cages. Computer covered
in black plastic, a mournful silence. I’m
scraping the windshield, the road already
rumbling in my hand, its slush and broken
pavement tumbling toward us from a future
we will outrun. What do we need? One change
of clothes. Tolls for exits. The long single
bridge in our minds assembled from segments
that span the fogged valleys and the many
rivers we must cross. Something happening
to our speech, a stillness between us like
patience: the long breath of a tidal dawn
bringing washed-up reeds, a wavering line of
pelicans crossing the still visible moon.

John Allman | Mudlark No. 31
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