Portland

A bag of bags
and some warm clothes in the backseat.
bag of fruit. bag of almonds. bag of rice cakes.
lots of plastic.
windshield whippers that intermittently squeak
left an arch of unwiped raindrops right in front of my eyes as
I swiveled,
slightly nauseous, between
Redwoods, so tall and glorious
that they consumed the very small amount of light
that the clouds and rain allowed for me

and my white Chevy
my white rain coat and black puffy coat, my passengers.
that November, Northern California cold
of, like, always cold, although it’s not that cold
The heater being too…
on my face
then too on my feet
then I worried about gas and so I turn
the heat off.
I’m still not sure how much that actually matters?
I couldn’t see anything, that
I set out to see.
Headlights on, at noon,
after breakfast at a little deli in the rain,
and poems on the radio cutting in and out as
my cell service did.
I was tired of music.

Rain.
Rain. Rain.
Grey skies for sightseeing

tired of old songs
not in the mood for new songs

7:07 hours to go.
Please don’t start to be mean to yourself.

I turned the poems off.
Andrea Gibson,
either inspires me, or
makes me feel like I’ll never be that

good and
I needed silence,

thoughts
I swear this seat is higher on the right side
My back hurts.
Your posture sucks, you deserve this.
This is miserable and dumb, you could be at home, just watching TV, or
doing nothing.
No you can’t. You can’t do nothing thats why you….

thoughts

You seriously need to

unwelcome thoughts
I am not allowed to hate them

learn a lesson, like
how much of this empty space do you NEED to fill, like
you should have just taken the 3 days rest, but…

no.
thank you,
thoughts.

all the parts
of me
The I that says I like myself
and the me that says you should
turn the music back on.
We stared at each other,
like a 12 step group
around the doughnuts
on the first night.

When I talk to myself
I use you, not I
It’s a disassociation.

5:32 to go
Where are you even going?
Rain. Grey. Trees.
It’s boring
I’m mad.
another car comes every 20 min or so
and I want to ask them
how they are coping
but I just keep driving
because,
I am sure they are listening to
song lyrics they don’t care about
and they like the rain,
and they love windy roads, and
happy wet trees, and
they say things to themselves like
I like this song.

4:47 to go
I turn the music back on.

Actual photo from this trip. The sun had come out a little at this point. You can see the windshield streak that really drove me nuts.