19th and Alameda Street/Traveling Back

19th and Alameda Street/Traveling Back

On the paved road
with the yellow line
I fly out and up
from my electric car
descending, through exhaust and honking horns.
I’ve traveled here before
Many times.

I am, again, the Indian Princess
the cowgirl flying her pretend pony through dust
beneath the concrete.
I kneel in the gentle dirt where I was nurse,
pat, pat, patting the legs of wounded soldier boys,
fix, fix, fix I said as I made them whole,
as I healed them
as I loved them

That stretch of road__
childhood, printed there in the earth
my blossoming womanhood, too
where nighttime held us, me and my lovely boy,
till the cruiser came and shined its light on my bare breasts
cruel trick of light trading beauty for shame.
That stretch of road,
once dust, now paved,
where mother spied my feckless mate
brightly bending toward the blond
came telling me,
came giving me
sharp keys to liberation,
escape from dead illusions,
consent to fly away

On that old dirt road I once flew free.
Now, in wheels on pavement, at 35 miles per hour
We commune
Preparing for the final act on 19th and Alameda Street.
The Indian maid. ..the nurse ,fix, fix, fixing,
the wild-haired cowgirl flying the painted pony,
the restless wife poised for flight,
now I, the aged artist, not yet done
I pick the brush the Scotch Broom
sweep sweep sweep my den
and wait for the soldiers,
and the cowboys,
and the beautiful boy.