90. Notes on the Journey

The road is just a road,

be it a rut carved in the

wind-flayed grass

or a sticky blacktop finger

pointing to the horizon.

The road is just a road,

under blistered soles

or bald tires or

(more likely) both

at the same time.

The road is just a road –

it’s not the sad filling station oasis

squatting beside it;

it’s not the glittering ocean

or bleak cliff beyond it;

it’s not even the ghosts

that pierce it at regular

intervals, like mile markers,

like buoys of hope

and umpteenth chances and

rusted-shut dreams.

The road is just a road,

second cousin to

the churning ship wake,

a reflection of the airplane

tracks that zipper

the forgiving sky.

The road is just a road,

and it goes three ways:

where you’ve always been

and where you could be,

but mostly where you

are, right now.

— Amy Nixon

Amy Nixon is an award-winning poet and song-writer who lives in Manhattan, KS with her teenage son and three very spoiled cats.  She is passionate about architecture, genealogy, and guacamole, among other things.

Advertisement