Below is a revised version to a poem I wrote a handful of days back, it was preceded by “A few more miles into the wind”, a short story. Both have different lead characters in similar situations, but with different outcomes, while the first reveals, and the second (A longing goodbye to a thirteen degree sun) conceals. But none of that is what has my head working overtime. Back some time ago, a couple of little short story projects, “The adventures of Megan & Jack (“El camino de la roca” & “One night in Mexico”)”, and “The MFR Collective – Broken Light”, well, all these are about to change drastically, while also taping into aspects to a couple of little shorts “Few expectations” & another one (different to the rest), to which I can not remember the name of at present. So between the below, and the preceded one above, a set in part relating to character redevelopments have been rattling of in connection to Megan & Jack (logistics & preamble) in starting , under the umbrella to the MFR Collective. I’ve a rough map with characters strapped against a beginning, and middle for a much larger writing piece, but thoughts on the extents to an end still hang. Megan, Jack, and MFR are a couple of plus years old, and with some consolidation well overdue, a reinvestment of time may just build something readable – conceal, and reveal (perhaps).
A longing goodbye to a thirteen degree sun
Thick black curls roll in waves across the
Brown gold surface to her back, a t-shirt adrift, a wind.
While with the slightest gate in her movements
Julie Ro drops down through the waking gears
Her Bonneville’s exhaust crackling beneath the
Thunder to its unbroken heart’s compression.
Together they lean right, swing off the highway,
A long way from the far north, passed by Canadian Rockies,
Dust and pebbles, flick up as deceleration kicks in,
Down between a multitude, stationary road rigs.
These juggernauts of long haul men, women,
And a few others in the count, some dormant.
Some bursting to life, and the odd few rolling out,
Returning to wandering reaches, a wylie black top.
Such highways from once they came at times
In their endless rumble through the isolation within night.
Julie Ro, cuts a slow path, steady passing amongst the
Giants emerging out from their parallel drift in tales.
To reveal an expanse, an odd collection of buildings,
A truck stop, the last of the roadhouses before
Ten or so miles to one in many borders between lands,
On each, to look forward, to make haste down below the equator
Pointing her Bonneville to a near vacant pump, her mind at rest
Julie Ro pulls up alongside, dragging the bike up on to its stand
Her slim six foot Maori frame, brisk at the break
Unwinds from the early morning miles left behind.
Where the past night’s feet find their cradle unto the
Earth once more, on parched dust covered concrete.
Coated by the winds to early Autumn’s (Fall’s)
Favour in a day’s rolling start beneath a ten degree sun.
Before long, Julie Ro quenches the Bonneville’s thirst
From its journey, in slow haste her feet cover two
score or so feet, making an exchange, a hand full of US
For fuel and a bottle of water with a little time to breathe
To roam around a few coloured corners, in search for the
Bathroom, when passing a woman, tunes she’s singing,
Humming notes, and writing them down in a notebook.
Sing it out loud sista, get it down, and let it run in song
Julie Ro says, as both women exchange smiles, and
Continue upon their individual unwoven paths as a sun
Clocks eleven degrees to a distant red washed horizon,
More dust dances to the songs along the road giant lines
Rounding the last, through a swinging door corner, and
There she was, a solemn empty stare right back at her
Tangled red hair, small tears rolling down her cheeks.
Words, then silence. They’re all gone, they’re all gone, here this
R oad grinds to a halt, bolted with no choices left. Who’s all gone?
As Julie Ro washes her hands, the woman, in unbroken silence
Stares at her through the mirror, tears still meandering
Tender contours to her face. Then soft echoes escape her
Everything, all I want is out. As far south as far south as I can go.
Listen Sista, a peaceful ocean and a little luck is with you today,
And with just few shots more in conversation, the girl turns,
Silent leans the women back inside a stall, black bag her at her side,
Julie Ro takes her by the hand exiting the bathroom, silent a woman
Trailing close behind as they walk direct, almost in slow-motion
Back out around each painted corner in tin, concrete, or brick, on a
Clear path towards her Bonneville, not a word is spoken, not a
Sound, the world seems silent around both Julie Ro,
And the women, a stranger, her tears slipping beneath the silence,
Beneath a twelve degree sun as they arrive close together
Pausing at the pump, where in one movement, Julie Ro
Turns as the woman hands her the rucksack, it contents
Split between the Bonneville’s saddle bags, finally to
Leave it empty atop a pump. As keys slip into a warm
Ignition, both women mount up to go, while as Julie Ro
Pockets the stand beneath the Bonneville’s belly, sounds,
A crackle to the exhaust, and thunder in its heart. Life
Breathes for the road once more, now a company of three.
Wait no longer for a transit sun, the vast journey South
Taking a few moments more, Julie Roe ties her long
Black curls back in a ponytail, fastened in four
Places as it stretches the length along her spine,
To then with the silent women at her back, she looks
Up once more, to see a thirteen degree sun, passing
In time with the day, a share to distant southern roads ahead,
Pulling away a roadhouse exit, behind rising dust across distances,
Slices awake upon seeking a free stillness between each stories’
Movement once more, until day for Julie Ro slips, sinks a slowed
momentum. Before too long finds its way passing into an estrange to
night, with a silent women in hours for miles across vast unbroken days,
A longing goodbye to a thirteen degree sun..