Thursday, August 19, 2010

Driving Home, Spring 2008

The Sichuan earthquake in south central China killed at least 80,000 people and left more than 5 million homeless.


The road

is outlined

five, six, ten deep

with people


who gather to its warmth

hang from its length.


Your eyes in my headlights

are slivers in midnight's deep gray

grasping for your child,


powerless to wrench him

from road's belly.


The road,

your last belonging.


With this piece, I would really like to hear what you think works and what does not work. Could a few of you let me know what you think is happening in the poem and what it poem is saying? That would be really helpful.


No comments: