There was a time when film was too expensive.
In those days, we used words scrawled
on fast food wrappers, creased maps and memory.
The cars ran on gasoline and explosions.
The phones were tethered to wires,
but we weren’t tethered to anything.
The highways stretched forever.
Nobody knew what was on the other end.
Not the maps of the ancient conquistadors
nor the atlases of the highway cartographers
could show us the ten thousand things
we needed to see for ourselves.
—
This is one I’ve been kicking around a while.
In other news, mark Stratton gave a nice quick review of Birds Nobody Loves. He interviewed me for his blog too and that should be appearing in the near future. Thanks, mark!
James Brush is a teacher and writer who lives in Austin, TX. He tries to get outside as much as possible.
I like it.
Thanks, Anjuli.
Beautiful road-trippy kind of poem… there’s a nice balance of the totally unknown and the completely discovered, and you’ve perfectly sketched out that moment in time at the midpoint.
Thanks, Joseph.