Poem for Thursday: Morning Commute, 10/7/14 A funny thing happened As I donned my helmet And rain gear this morning: My mind sped back Thirty millennia to a Cro-magnon ancestor Of mine—let’s call him Og— Sitting in his cave by the fire, Looking out at the stars. And I wondered if he had that Same bump on the back of his Left hand that I have and that so many Of my uncles also had. Did he notice it Whenever he went to chuck A spear at a mammoth? Mounting my bike, I proceeded Into the realm of recorded history, And as I accelerated down Route 20, The dim morning light seemed To be reflected from the eyes Of all my forebears, As numerous as the grains of sand Under the Santa Cruz boardwalk, And particularly to the More easily imagined ones Who brought the gene pool To North America, making their various Ways to California, where, By the time I was born with That lump on the back of my hand, We were an old family By Central Valley standards. As I rode along the Charles River past The domes of MIT, The more recent generations Asserted themselves in my body: Left side, maternal; Right side, paternal. Each grandmother took a leg, Which, given their incompatible personalities, Made the pedaling uneven. Each grandfather claimed an arm, Clenching the handlebars, With the same grip they used To tighten bolts on the machinery Back at Borden’s Dairy. As I turned on to Massachusetts Ave., I scanned my brain for traces of the illness That made my mother’s life hell, And finding none at the moment, I relaxed a bit, my face settling into My father’s ironic smile. Og and his descendants Thronged my mind as I locked my bike to a lamppost. They shared the elevator with me As I ascended to the office, And they all looked Over my shoulder curiously As I checked the morning’s email. Of that great multitude, my mother Was the only one unconfused about What that contraption was And what I was doing with it.
Posted on: Thu, 09 Oct 2014 13:01:15 +0000
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