Willcox, Arizona
ca. 1960
When I drive by an auto salvage yard,
I sometimes wonder how many destinations
were achieved and where everyone went;
how many were set aside and forgotten;
how many irritated parents pulled over to quash
a rebellion or let a desperate child get out to seek relief;
how many awkward, groping moments and
first time whatevers occurred in the front and back seats;
and how many drove up and down the road,
out of loneliness or anger, turning around
two, three, or more times before returning home.
Some stories are about the fear of driving
to places too far away, or of driving
just far enough to get away.
Most stories, though, are about families
who were going somewhere nearby together.
We piled into the car or the back of a pickup
in a bluster of excitement, eager to be
out of the house with no other goals
than to stop at the Dairy Queen,
then drive to Railroad Park,
face the wind, squinty-eyed,
sitting on the picnic tables chattering,
ice cream dripping off our chins
onto our shirts and pants
and dresses.
Moments of joy.
A perfect place.
So good a time.
From: Memories And The Things Left Behind
Unpub. MS p. 11
As I get older, I think about how the purpose of things changes in our lives. What was once a pitcher for lemonade when serving company has become a flower vase. So many memories are associated wtih things. No wonder becoming a hoarder is inevitable. We may not use the pitcher any more, but we will never part with that pitcher and the memories it holds. Thank you for sharing your brilliance and passion.
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