from the place that i now call home

Leaving sleepy green, misty quiet. Campfire evenings and rising bells. Down winding roads now bypassed for the straighter, wider. Clayhole, Rowdy, Hindman, Gate City. Reverse order of directions dad gave his teenage girl.

your old grey honda
traveled three hundred thousand
in one accord – us.

Somewhere in the middle, (in the middle of the middle) so many daisies that everyone passes by. “If everyone stopped to pick a flower…..” But we’re not everyone. And anyway. How many people walk across an interstate to pick a daisy bouquet? Just you. And the girl in the picture – in the floppy leather hat –  the big brother hand-me-down from a family Ghost Town trip. The one with the goofy smile because she still can’t believe that someone…. is in love with her.

grab the memory
daisies long preserved in oil
green ale 8 bottle
Leaving sleepy green, misty quiet. Campfire evenings and rising bells. Down winding roads now bypassed for the straighter, wider. Clayhole, Rowdy, Hindman, Gate City. Reverse order of directions dad gave his teenage girl.
your old grey honda
traveled three hundred thousand
in one accord – us.
Somewhere in the middle, (in the middle of the middle) so many daisies that everyone passes by. “If everyone stopped to pick a flower…..” But we’re not everyone. And anyway. How many people walk across an interstate to pick a daisy bouquet? Just you. And the girl in the picture – in the floppy leather hat –  the big brother hand-me-down from a family Ghost Town trip. The one with the goofy smile because she still can’t believe that someone…. is in love with her.
grab the memory
daisies long preserved in oil
green ale 8 bottle

Leaving sleepy green, misty quiet. Campfire evenings and rising bells. Down winding roads now bypassed for the straighter, wider. Clayhole, Rowdy, Hindman, Gate City. Reverse order of directions dad gave his teenage girl.

your old grey honda
traveled three hundred thousand
in one accord – us.

Somewhere in the middle, (in the middle of the middle) so many daisies that everyone passes by. “If everyone stopped to pick a flower…..” But we’re not everyone. And anyway. How many people walk across an interstate to pick a daisy bouquet? Just you. And the girl in the picture – in the floppy leather hat –  the big brother hand-me-down from a family Ghost Town trip. The one with the goofy smile because she still can’t believe that someone…. is in love with her.

grab the memory
daisies long preserved in oil
green ale 8 bottle

____________________________

This came out of a literary scavenger hunt that I sort of halfway did. This particular writing prompt was: “Write a travel haibun.” Yeah. If you have to know what that means, google it. Worked for me.

One weekend in the middle of the summer, a teenage girl traveled from Kentucky to her North Carolina home to introduce her Oklahoma boyfriend to her parents.  He drove his old Honda which eventually made it past the 300,000 mile mark (shortly before we started preparing to add a second car seat in the back.) On that first trip down to NC, the crazy guy pulled off to the side of the divided interstate and ran with me across the road to pick daisies from the median.

He’s made life unforgettable from the very beginning.

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