For Elizabeth

Will Hiltz

            For Elizabeth

 

 

nameless trucks roar east on I-40

obscured by ancient Mohave dust

swept for eons past Joshua trees

and swirling now past this brittle

pitted motel window

 

the dust and trucks pressing eastwards

towards my jumble of memories

a matching quiz of locales and emotions

     

      Tulsa fears and Boston urges

      or was it tears in Tulsa

      Richmond urges and

      Boston longing

      and what goes with Winnipeg

      and where were the binges 

      and

 

on and on and on

past sundown past midnight

until finally near dawn

not even the road noise prolongs

what will be half-remembered

when I’m further west as

 

      Barstow insomnia

 

  • Author: Will Hiltz (Offline Offline)
  • Published: March 1st, 2017 02:02
  • Comment from author about the poem: Dedicated to all the other guys who somehow once thought in their youth that a psycho attraction to a rabid, sadistic, feral hog of a woman who hated you would be a good idea ...
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 48
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Comments6

  • Michael Edwards

    Oooh -I feel it - love the construction of this Will

    • Will Hiltz

      I'm glad you appreciate the role of construction/structure in a poem such as this. Like Lebowski's rug, it really ties the poem's "room" together. 🙂

    • Goldfinch60

      Good write.

    • willyweed

      you may have another fan, my mothers name was/is Elisabeth! and she like this poem was wonderful to me. Thank you WW

      • Will Hiltz

        I don't your mother was this Elizabeth ... 🙂

        • willyweed

          That's Ok fair enough still a good' in! thanks Will!

        • Tony36

          Well written and expressed Great write

          • Will Hiltz

            Thanks, Tony36. Glad you liked it.

            • Tony36

              Welcome

            • Augustus

              "Feral hog of a woman"--how sweet. Nicely done.

            • MendedFences27

              As time passes memories become jumbled together. If clouded by fears, tears, longing, and insomnia they can become hideous dreams. I loved how you presented this recollection or recollections ( it's sometimes difficult to sort it all out) . It flows from trucks and dust to road noise or lack of , and insomnia, with scrambled remembrances in between. Loved it. - Phil A.
              p.s. Where the hell is Barstow?

              • Will Hiltz

                Thanks, MendedFences27. Glad you liked it. Barstow is a small town in the Mohave Desert in Southern California along I-40, many parts of which grow the interesting "Joshua Trees." Barstow has little else to commend it unless you're into the whole Southwest Desert thing, except that an eccentric musical composer, Harry Partch, wrote the iconic piece of avant garde music that bears that title, based on some hitchhiker inscriptions he found along the road there: well worth a listen.



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