In California

Cross-country.

One day I will fly along the interstate
through sunny California. It will be 106 degrees in the desert.

The heat will feel like a blanket
wrapping me up
like a friend holding me, kissing my cheek and saying,
"It’ll be all right."

I’ll be heading to the coast
where the ocean is as blue as my eyes. A soft mist
will rise from the water and touch the sky.
Imagine that the sea becomes the azure above
and suddenly the water is the air.
The air is the water.

The sun will be so hot it’ll crack the windshield
and the engine, a carbureted 350 that shakes the ground it moves on.

Joshua trees sporadically cover the Mojave
under the arms of July

I’ll stop and climb a mountain.

I’ll turn around and look toward the car that waits on the side of the road.
The heat will waver and a figure will appear
in the passenger seat. I can’t tell who it is
but I know that I love
him

in California, they sell loneliness in containers at the grocery store
and people buy love when they get to the check out counter.
They see affection sitting on the shelf
with chocolate bars. And they must have some.

I’ll pick up a six-pack and return to the desert
with a man. And we’ll stand there with our feet in the hot sand.
We won’t get burned.

In California, I’ll stand on the side of the road
when I get a flat tire. We’ll have bottles of water
and we’ll wait for a car to come through the desert. We’ll hope
that the strangers aren’t
lunatics

it doesn’t matter. I’ll hold his hand and tell him that I adore him.
Location is not pertinent as long as I can climb the mountain
turn back
and see him waiting for me
a cigarette between his lips
and the future carefully packed in a cardboard box
on the back seat.

One flat tire cannot stop us from roaming the Mojave
with our lives tucked safely into backpacks.
It’s only natural; I know I wasn’t born this way
but I can fly
along the interstate, my hand upon the wheel
my hair whipped around my neck by the sweltering wind
as we swim through the heat, through the desert
on wheels,
born to travel, to soar,
to discover
106 degrees in the desert,
the heat holding me, like a blanket
and he’s holding me
a lover
a friend.

Reviews

[there is no more from m..]

wow amazing poem :)

[Helen Woodward]

Beautifully directed phrasing and great imagery! I live in Australia and I know the kind of heat you are referring to, it is stifling, but with an adored one along it somehow takes second place. You are quite the traveler and adventurer. "Like a blanket."
Loved it :-)

[Naomi Montana Walsh]

I live in California and do not know if you do or not as you totally painted a picture very believable.i love it hear.. perhaps because people wear shorts all year round or maybe because we are bit crazy.. but your poem was perfect.. and really felt like California.

[LaurenGrapefruit]

I really like the imagery and "under the arms of July." This poem maks me wanna take a trip, it is so detailed and well written. :)