Phoenix
Swans through the storm.
Leave me alone,
I’m having a crisis.
I’m having a crisis,
leave me alone.
Falling rock
Running deer
Lane ends,
merge.
It was a long, long,
long, long bus ride.
And I kept looking over
at the guy next to me
and thinking,
This guy is really good
at sleep.
The next long distance
bus driver got on
and said, Howdy folks,
put up your feet,
take out teeth
and scratch
while nobody’s looking.
We’re going for a long ride.
And so
like the different radio stations,
the different bus drivers
faded in and out,
each sticking
to their own region.
While the tractor trailer drivers
crossed line after line
with us,
went through
tollgate
after tollgate.
The place where power
and emotion meet.
It was a long ride.
Riders on this storm,
eye of the storm,
swans through the storm.
Falling rock.
Running deer.
Lane ends,
emerge.
I kept looking over
at the guy next to me
and thinking,
This guy is really good
at not waking up.
He must need his sleep.
I looked at my own
reflection in the window,
and I could see right
through it to my dreams.
A lighthouse
out on the waves
of wheat rolling by,
out on the waves
of wheat in the wind.
A place to stop.
A place to stay.
A place to hang my hat.
A small place with a light
shining in the window,
bread on the table
keeping the wolf
from the door.
And a lighthouse
nailed to the wall,
with an anchor
hanging from it,
and a small bell
hanging from the anchor.
We’ll be in Phoenix
in an hour, folks.
Better take your pictures now,
because pretty soon
we’ll be somewhere else.
When I got to Phoenix
it was like swimming
through heat waves.
You could fry an egg
right on the sidewalk.
And everybody said,
You should’ve come
in the winter.
It’s a lot nicer.
It’s a lot cooler.
And I said,
But I’m here
now.
Taking refuge in an
air conditioned diner,
I met him at a counter.
I do still life, he said.
Candles, apples, dishes.
So you see
the extraordinary
in the ordinary,
I said.
Something like that,
he said.
something like that.
Back in the solitude,
of my own room,
my legs up the wall,
I could feel the heat
with my bare feet
right through
the warm wallpaper.
I looked up at my bare feet,
and I was suddenly filled
with great compassion
for my own feet
and the journey they were on.
I even wanted
to give them
a moment
of silence.
I lay there.
This would be my only night
of stopping
on the whole trip.
The rest of the time
I was sleeping
on the bus.
Soon, I would be
back out
in the movement.
But I
was here
now.
And truth be told,
because this was
my moment of truth,
here is where
I would always be.
In the place of the Phoenix.
My falling rock,
my running deer,
my lanes ending
and emerging.
Taylor Jane Green
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