Poetry on Medium
Old Ford
O, the stories it tells…
leans on dirt, takes you back to Denver road trips and mountains waiting under easy wind. those nights camping among stars so close you could latch onto them. the one time when baby Julia canvassed the birth canal. old Ford was blue, now brandishes a dented flank from that wild trip into this world.
Becky and Hazel and Julia lying on the hood, paging through The Bhagavad Gita which took us to California. where will it take us now, missing tire, sacrificial token of another’s onward journey?
children have painted the door brown, added a flower pot. they pass orange juice through the windows, made it a shelter within due imagination, fit for a conjugation of memory.
©Daniel, 2024
Check out my poetry book “Facial Features” here:
Another poem by Daniel:
