From the Bookshelf of Around the World in 80 Books…

Alive

The hum of the car
is deadening.
It could sing me
to sleep.

I like

Alive

The hum of the car
is deadening.
It could sing me
to sleep.

I like to be sung to:
deep-throated music
of the south, horse songs,
of the bare feet sound
of my son walking in his sleep.

Or wheels turning,
spinning
spinning.

Sometimes I am afraid
of the sound
of soundlessness.
Like driving away from you
as you watched me wordlessly
from your sunglasses.
Your face opened up then,
a dark fevered bird.
And dived into me.
No sound of water
but the deep, vibrating
echo
of motion.

“I tried every escape,”
you told me. “Beer and wine
never worked. Then I decided
to look around, see
what was there. And I saw myself
naked. And alive. Would you
believe that?
Alive.”

Alive. This music rocks
me. I drive the interstate,
watch faces come and go on either
side. I am free to be sung to;
I am free to sing. This woman
can cross any line.