At Stadium and Drake

______________

Once in a while, we are stopped in our race through the days, like driftwood near the bank of a river, caught for a second in the mud before being swept along. In those moments, we get a rare view of the non-stop world we are a part of. This poem came from such a moment.

At Stadium and Drake

I was waiting to make a left, to get

out of traffic. She was across from me,

in a red hatchback, waiting to enter. The

cars whizzed by like hornets. Our eyes met

briefly and the whole journey was suddenly

evident: always going somewhere, always

unsure how to get there, waiting for the

chance to join, to lead, to follow, relieved

to make our way, till we miss our exit and

wonder, “Where to now?” The speed of the

traffic made our cars shimmy. We caught

each other’s eye again, missing our chance.

She shrugged. I laughed. The moment of

pause had opened a different dimension

that made us impervious to the pull of the

hive, at least for a while. Then, in a flash,

she was sucked into the whir. Someone

behind me began honking. I couldn’t

move. I wanted out. Once home, I had

a glass of water on the deck, where the

peony, weighed down with all its beauty,

was drinking from the birdbath. I thought,

“Oh, teach me how to be this still.”

A Question to Walk With: Begin to tell the story of a recent struggle between keeping up with the race you find yourself in and your effort to widen an unexpected moment of stillness.