Sunday, December 16, 2012

The Ride Home

    Image by Andy Magee

My throat tightens 
when I spot you waiting,
among the clump of students filled with
young, slouchy energy.

Then the mom-worry kicks in.
You look exhausted and rumpled,
smell faintly of stale beer and cigarette smoke.
I wonder how much sleep you've had this week,
this semester.
But finals are over and you’re mine again,
at least for the next three hours
while we drive home.

Your dark, 5-day growth
reminds me that you are a man now,
but still my baby - always my first baby.
You stretch and push the seat back to its furthest  position,
as we head west out of the city
listening to System of a Down.

It should be snowing, you say.
I agree as we look past the windshield wipers
into the grey December drizzle.

I turn up the defrost, as the atmosphere
inside the car is changed by the warm breath of two.
Then the special magic of a long car ride begins.
You shift in your seat, turn down the volume
and start talking…
And then
everything is all right.

This is prompted by The Mag creative writing group.  Check it out.




39 comments:

  1. After the tragic massacre in CT .. reading your poem has begun another avalanche of tears. Hang on to them tight, no matter their age. This is beyond beautiful.

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    1. Oh you're so right Helen, that's wise advice. This has been such a sad weekend. Thank you for your kind words, and kind heart.

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  2. smiles...what a cool snapshot mary....its good to have them home...to have those mundane moments...it makes the world feel alright for sure....very nice write...

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    1. Thanks Brian. Blink twice and yours will be that old. I'd tell you to treasure every minute, but I'm pretty sure you already do.

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  3. Aw, this could be me and my son. There is nothing like that bond, and those quiet moments shared. Love this, Mary.

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  4. Home for the holidays - great time!

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    1. It is indeed Jinksy. I hope you and yours enjoy them too!

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  5. You did so well on that other quia, Other Mary; how about this one?

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    1. I gave it a try, but I'm not so sure about it this week. Still, it's a fun read Berowne.

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  6. Sounds like you had a great passenger to pass the three hour drive with!!

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    1. I did Robyn. I never minded the time spent, because cars are such great places to talk.

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  7. A nice moment caught, liked it a lot!

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  8. Slouchy and rumpled- it goes with the grey skies-and then steam heat and talk with Mom- yup !

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    1. lol, Thanks Izzy. You know I started with 'wrinkled', and someone suggested it might sound like wrinkled skin. I'm glad 'rumpled' works :o)

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  9. Beautiful...reminds me of how I feel when my grown son comes for a visit all by himself. Healing'
    Hugs
    SueAnn

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    1. Thank you SueAnn, for the comment and the hugs. I hope you and your son can be together for the holidays.

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  10. This is beautiful and very heart-felt. You've captured a wonderful moment in this poem.

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  11. Yes, a beautiful poem, return with loved ones at Christmas is always very emotional. A greeting.

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    1. Thank you Leovi - I hope your Christmas is happy one.

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  12. So relatable, this poem, in its tale and its form. Well done, Mary.

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  13. You caught the relationship "mother and child reunion"..perfect, especially poignant now..

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  14. ...very sweet and yes..priceless... writings like this give me lots of reasons to miss my Mum... thank God 'tis holiday and i'm goin' home soon... excellent...

    smiles...

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  15. A very sweet take on the prompt. PS found my way in :)

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  16. A road trip with your mum is a liminal zone, no doubt.
    Merry xmas , Mary

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  17. Lovely take on the prompt and it brings back memories of when my firstborn returned 'home' during a car journey.

    Anna :o]

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  18. We are always Moms and they are always our little ones in our heart....not matter how old they are.....this is lovely Mary....i can relate completely!! :-)

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  19. They are never small forever yet i feel this my son is now late teens and we can still talk and have a hug you never really let them go you just accept the world they enter and this expresses it so well

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    1. You're right Chris...we never do let them go, and never stop worrying. Thank you.

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