Poem by Rachel Eliza Griffiths
Photo by Kees Terberg
In my mind I’ll go five miles with you. No more.
Headlight from a woman’s limbs.
Really, it is brief illumination. A sort of bird
song & bird shadow. The root
of a cage becoming a cage.
A jolt & blot of stained steel
& running boards.
What meter could dissolve
the glare of impossible love?
The past was not a mirror on either door.
I could reflect the mountains
shrinking to hills, then youth.
Pain is a quill tipped with speaking.
Inside of the car a radio plays
& something nearly musical
runs ahead of the body
like a train against the lid
What is that heap on the shoulder of the road?
The finger & lip look rather homeless.
A nomad’s sign swings its population
of dust between broken lines. The crows of
wire scallop a white sky.
Memory is a burnt child
I carry on my back.