One Summer Traveled
Janet Kuypers
verse 3, 4 and parts of 5 of the poem “One Summer”
edited & compiled 11/2/13
I know we had our differences,
but I was looking forward to seeing you,
to seeing southern California, the stores,
the glamour, the beaches, the commercialism.
And you, you had to cart me away
with your religious troops to the wilderness,
leaving me at a campsite while you went off
to church. And I sat there for days,
watching us, watching us become bloodthirsty,
we were trying to hurt each other, we were like
animals, you starting your life with me in tow.
But at least I saw the redwood forests.
#
And traveling later, I never imagined how beautiful
the east coast could be, rolling hills curling one state
into another. We’d drive up a hill in the truck
and I would lift my head, my chin as high as I could
in anticipation to try to see the other side.
I remember walking along the beach
in Maine, restored buildings lining
the rocky shore, the fog so thick
you couldn’t see fifty feet in front of you.
And people were suntanning.
And I photographed the lighthouse -
how do they work in the fog like this?
It’s so thick, thick like the cigarette smoke
coming from the inside of the truck
when we would drive to antique shops
in New Hampshire. Thick, like a powerful force
overcoming someone, that
holds you there, that doesn’t let go. Like us.
#
Watching this summer, this scenery travel past me
streamline into blurred lines of color,
I think of marriage. Probably not with you,
I just think of marriage, to someone. Marriage,
streamlining life into a blur. Settling down.
Settling. It’s funny how your surroundings
can change you.
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