(“For though I am free from all men, I
have made myself servant to all, that I might win even more.” 1 Corinthians
9:19)
I know you would like a passenger,
someone who does not yank the bit.
I know you would love a road trip,
I know you love silence; I know you love presence,
I know you would love a safe place to weep.
We can ride through the mountains, driving close to
the edge,
taking the switchbacks and peering over the ledge.
A high school friend told me once that, on those
hairpins,
you should start on the inside of the curve and finish on the outside.
He never mentioned what to do if
we met another traveler halfway.
But we winded our way up to Yosemite
in his 68 rebuilt VW bug. The air-cooled engine
labored with no breeze from behind. We played
the “guess who” on cassette and sang along to
American Woman. Gary drove, I sang shotgun and
Danny brought up the bass in back.
I will be your silence as long as you live,
I will be your presence as long as I live,
I will be your place to weep and to laugh so
inappropriately that no one understands
how tears and stupid jokes can live together so
unabashedly.
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