Headline Poem 3/7/14 -- A bus ride through Georgia

(Photo credit Google Image)

Today, I read this headline about the dangerous roads of the deep south, particularly for cyclists. It reminded me of a bus ride many years ago...

A bus ride through Georgia

On a bus through Georgia
we drive through the night
though it is impossible to sleep
strangers, dogs, and empty flask reflections demand my attention

my military duffle bag is packed tightly underneath
my step-dad says any girl traveling by bus through the south should have one
it will make you look tough
I have never been to Vietnam and home like that bag,
stained with soil and sweat beyond its years,
looking tougher than it feels.
the bag is stacked in a pile with all the other luggage down below
I couldn't get to it if I wanted to,
and I wonder who else is trying to look tough, but doesn't have their bag to show

the woman next to me clutches her purse so tightly
it is clear she has learned from experience
tugging at it like multi-colored yarn
raveled and unraveled again and again
even I am a threat

the same man gets off the bus at every stop to check his watch and smoke a Camel cigarette
smoke ringlets leave his mouth much too smoothly
    he's hit a woman before, but says he will never do it again
    he's got God on his side now, and he has learned his lesson
my guess is he's been in jail, but I do not ask
his necklace is a gold chain from his grandfather Vincent Lee
Vincent was a bad ass from Buffalo, and I can tell he has friends in places I would never go
basement Italian dinners where big, balding men compare today's meatballs to their mothers'
Camel smoking man's mother Josephine's were the best, may she rest in peace

the south is an interesting place in the dark
tires roll over
dangerous roads like spokes
chugging along I can hear songs
and howling wind
and I see white lights and ghosts 

meanwhile the little girl behind me plays peekaboo 

a slender fellow two rows up thinks he is going to be the next big thing
he has jokes like no other, he says
he can make a dead man sing
he tells a few, and I stare at him not sure how to respond
one is about a swimming pool fiasco... too much lotion, but no punch
and the other is about jackhammers, and a bowling lawn
I smile, but am not amused

hours pass by
it feels more like days
then we stop and get off
having shared air and space,
I grab my big bag,
and go on my way

Headline Poem 2/16/14 -- Oconee River

(Photo credit seriousrunning.com)

Today's poem is inspired by news from Georgia. There are several competing headlines from this region today -- earthquakes and aftershocks, weather delays, and deaths. One particular story about the snow took me back to my days at The University of Georgia, and a snow day I vaguely remember, but will never forget.

Oconee River 

The news hit the campus hard

There was a killer on the loose

A new mother, 
bloody from the birth, 

and then death of her newborn child

Who is so scared to have new life next to them that they cut the cord and then stab a baby to death? 

Oconee Hall at the University of Georgia in Athens

The body was found in the dumpster outside

It was a cold February night

When I heard the news, I ran down to the river with the same name

Out of breath, I threw a penny from the bridge

I wanted to throw up
I was confused  

I made a promise to the dead baby and her tormented college mom,

Embrace what comes your way, 
a lofty, idealistic goal

I went home and sang to Hootie and the Blowfish, and talked about Philosophy until 2 a.m.

We tried to forget, though it was hard to imagine, 
but being young women, we tried

She could be one of us

A bearer of secrets, who gave birth in a bathroom, with scissors taken from her dorm room desk 

It snowed the next day, and they cancelled school 

The bus couldn't get over the bridge 

We spent the day drinking hot chocolate and watching Friends until we couldn't stay up any longer, and went to bed 

When the sun came out, 

the quarter ended, 
and I said goodbye to the Oconee River