It's easy to look ahead on the road to town.
The four-wheeler vibrates underneath you,
and you shift your weight into the curves,
feeling the brittle wind bite your chin.
But if you ride double, you can turn your head.
The mountains rise angrily to the heavy gray
of the sky, proud of their fierceness and cold angles.
If you are smart, you will shiver in their shadow.
Those mountains were not formed nicely.
They were forced, shoved, ripped from the earth
into furious slabs of an upright grade.
They won't to be gentle, soft, loving to you.
The ocean agrees with me; it is pissed off too.
The moon yanks it up and down, like laundry
in a washtub being yanked by a hostile scullery maid.
It slaps in, mixing white foam with mud in frustration.
It's easy to ignore the anger if you look ahead.
A four-wheeler can kill you if you ignore it,
But if you ride double, you can turn your head
and see how violent and angry Alaska is.
YOU ARE READING
Big Eyes
PoetryPoems from my path across the United States as I attempt to heal and find my family. ***my mother and I have reconciled. We're good, you shouldn't worry.
