On the Way to Rockford on a Sunday
Every small town along Interstate 80
told a story as my car tires sang.
They reminded me I’d been
with them before, still nestled
in fields of corn as they witnessed
each season as it passed. I surfed the radio
and with a second ear, learned to listen
for secrets the land revealed.
Downstate, locals said were true
to life, away from glistening towers
of Chicago as it rose on shoulders
of a lake that thought it was an ocean.
A friend once told me about
a woman who never drove the Loop.
A mother in a diner with two toddlers
told them to use their indoor voices
such excitement found, their lives
lying ahead. Her father nodded
to the memories they stirred.
Geneseo, Mineral and Princeton—
the story played out everywhere.
This I knew. I checked the oil
tires and gas before I started.
my car
a vessel for life
as it passes
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