I wrote this poem based on a prompt asking me to “write about the summer using all five senses.” Of course, since the first draft, the poem has gone through many edits, and now only vaguely follows the prompt. The inspiration was a memory I have from summer of seventh grade, when I lived in a monastery for three months, and there were practically no other people around us so all the roads were quiet and empty. It was a drastic difference from the constant city life I was used to, and the lack of light pollution made the night sky and moon incredible to look at.
road trips to remember my life is not as big as i think it is
white knuckles grip the steering wheel
as i drive with no direction
i just need to get away from home
with people heaving egos the size of skyscrapers
and problems weighing three times as heavy as i do
tired of city lights clouding stardust skies
tired of looking up for guidance and only seeing the moon
tired of the city hum that never stops
i wear it out with
the low drone of wheels on the freeway
as rumble strips shake me awake
keeping my fire sparked
eyes skipping back and forth
bleary lights pass by back and forth
objects in mirror are closer than they appear
the moon shines brightly in the distance
the city never looked so far away
the city never looked so small
its problems are so minuscule now
i find myself at a gas station
at the border of the city and no man’s land
glazed eyes devouring glazed donuts
and scoping out the slurpee section
the moon follows me
from gas stations and back roads and back on the freeway
back and forth
i can’t see the city anymore
only the moon above my head
only green signs on the highway
illuminated by the brights on my car
there is no traffic at night
only the taste of my thoughts on the tip of my tongue
i stick my head out of the window
i am going too fast and the wind is choking me
so i look up at the stars
who cares about the road
try to find a constellation i know
eyes skimming back and forth
the moon is still following me
i remember i am still small
i am so small
my thoughts race too fast and i’m probably about to crash
i close the window
i have been awake since i left but
the roads have been asleep
heavy-lidded cement
worn down by tires and padded feet
doe eyes in headlights
and her foal follows behind
i take a breath with the world and the car starts once more
engine revving and i can hear the rocks under the rubber
we are back in no man’s land
trees taller than skyscrapers
the porcelain light of the moon lighting my way
no avenues or streets to follow
no restless pedestrians and redirecting phone calls
only back roads back and forth
i inhale and exhale
pine trees and a slurpee for the road
i stop at another gas station
ask the cashier how far away i am from the city
he only points out that
“the moon seems awfully near”
the moon looks small to me
i’m even smaller
the city doesn’t exist on the highway
how big does it feel now?
