Issue 11
Roam
Teresa White
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Highways
Chryslers, Cadillacs, and Oldsmobiles
slipped past us--fins of childhood
like Great Whites going home.
Even crows mate for life.
Why then all these different houses,
states apart, fleeing confrontation?
Dad kept track of us somehow in his rowdy Ford,
still loved Mom with the blue-black hair
though I always hid trembling behind a door,
hoping he'd call my name.
I grew cautious of "hellos"
learned not to say "goodbye."
We moved north when Mother
couldn't stand the citrus air of oranges anymore,
moved south when snow inched up the sill.
~Teresa White
A Seattle native now living in Eastern Washington, Teresa has been writing poetry since her early teens. She has been published widely online and was nominated for the Pushcart prize in 1999 by the Melic Review. Email.
© 2003 by Teresa White. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2003 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.