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Rest Area

Submitted by Rosewood Apothecary on Thu, 2022-10-27 17:30

It was late in the day when he pulled in
Eyes road weary and heavy with worry
Gently crusted with saline tears
Vehicle loaded with mountains of sorry

Turned off the ignition, for moments he sat
Wishing that he could turn off the world
Felt futility down that path of thought
Returns reluctantly into the fold

First thing he does is examine the car
There’s flotsam and clutter and trash all around
Parting gifts from old traveling companions
In the form of dead weight that’s still slowing him down

Committed he is now to cleaning the space
Aligns it with all of this new energy
Splashes the salt that has crusted his eyes
And also the windshield so that he might see

So now with some comfort and new line of sight
It’s time to have a good look at this map
Discern which course he could take that feels right
Instead of repeating the usual lap

No map of streets, but this key to the soul
Kept calling him now, back to once traveled routes
Familiar places forgotten by him
As harmful behaviors devoured his roots

All the nostalgia came back with a flood
Memories cresting like so many waves
The feeling of doing the things that he should
Now taking control of the way he behaves

Decisions are made and the tank is now full
He’s steering away from ranks and the noise
Those roads were never rewarding to him
They robbed him of all his patience and poise

Drive slower but steady to old country roads
Allow them to guide you when you turn the wheel
To your eyes they’re new, but they’re older than you
Adapting themselves to the way that you feel

Style / type:

Structured: Western

Review Request (Intensity):

I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Review Request (Direction):

What did you think of my title?

How was my language use?

What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?

How does this theme appeal to you?

How was the beginning/ending of the poem?

Is the internal logic consistent?

Last few words:

I’m in love with this one.

Editing stage:

Editing - polished draft

Content level:

Not Explicit Content

Comments

Geezer

Thu, 2022-10-27 17:55

Old country roads...

and rest areas. I understand the trip. We often long to go back to familiar places and see if we can still see the places and things that we saw before our lives went the fast route! I love the old two-lane highways and the little rest areas, complete with little brooks and squirrels begging crumbs from your sandwich. But I understand that isn't exactly what you speak of. Yes, I went many different ways and traveled many different roads, [it's why I'm twice divorced]. But now that I'm on the straight and narrow, [so to speak], and traveling a hundred miles per hour; I still wonder if the same old sights are there. I don't necessarily, want to go back there, but just want to see. I think I got it right? Anyway, I felt something, even if it's not what you anticipated. Thank! ~ Geez.
.

There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
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Rosewood Apothecary

Thu, 2022-10-27 19:10

I think a poem like this

will always mean something different to each reader. However, you’re tuned in to some of the meaning here. I got turned on to drugs and alcohol fairly early. Consumption of alcohol was very normalized by the adults around me. So at 14 weed and beer weren’t really as devilish as my health teachers said. I fell into some great friendships that became toxic as we got deeper into harder drugs. I also left some great friends behind and I have regrets about that but largely thanks to social media I still get to interact with many of them.

A lot of the talk about cleaning up and clearing the space around me is deeper. Old trauma, behaviors to hide or run from dealing with it, repercussions of my behaviors whilst in certain company…So now I’m going to write, and paint, and record my music and sometimes that old junk weighs on me and makes it hard to move my feet on an artistic impulse but the more I learn about myself the easier it has become to clear the air and get to things.

All in all, I get a freaking ton of work: creative, vocational, and domestic, done in any given day. I’m learning to look at what I got to instead of things I didn’t get to. The things I didn’t get to today, they can’t own me anymore, they’re just tomorrow’s fun or children of never. I wanna learn to love both like my own.

You are a dear friend whose opinions and writing I admire.
Thanks for everything,
Tim

author comment

Geezer

Fri, 2022-10-28 10:18

While...

my physical health prohibits much in the way of domestic labor, I try to manage a certain amount of work every day. I too, do not let what I can't accomplish, affect what I can. It is my pleasure to make the kind of friends that I can respect in turn. You are very free with the terms of your personal life, and I really appreciate your candor. This site and the people in it, bring me much joy for the life I see written here. It helps me realize that we are not alone, we are never alone. We share our lives with each other and are much richer for our family of poets. Thank you for your keenness. ~ Geez.
.

There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

Lavender

Fri, 2022-10-28 18:08

Rest Area

Hello, Tim,
This one surfaces a lot of my memories of my Dad. I don't know how he put up with us, but each year he and my mother took all six children, the youngest and oldest being just 10 years apart, on a week's vacation in the family station wagon. Not short trips, either. Across the country. We stopped at many rest areas along the way to stretch, eat baloney sandwiches, and let my Dad stretch his legs and cool off. He was my hero as I was growing up. Stayed that way, too. But as I gradually aged myself, I saw his challenges and flaws as well as his heroics. It's as if I needed to give him a break from being so perfect - let him rest, give him space to just enjoy life without the responsibility of being our perfect role model. Those were the best years I had with him. We held a lot of mutual respect for one another. He showed me how to "let go and grow" with age, and he became my hero all over again. This is sobering and reflective. I adore it, and appreciate it for what it means to you. But I want to thank you for sharing such a revealing poem.
Peace!
L
Second reading: I'd also like to add that I can sense the energy and time you've dedicated to this piece. It is full of honesty and devotion. Thanks!

Neopoet

Rest Area