>wing windows


That Stretch Between Stanford and Eddie’s Corner
We climb back inside the ’66 Electra of seafoam

green with bench seats and wing windows
cranked open in the heat. We cruise past

barley and hay, barley and alfalfa. How far
can we see, how far can we see nothing,
I ask. Fifty or sixty, my sister replies, just

as we drive by the one thing there is
to see, a birdhouse nailed
to a gnarled fence post, we can see for fifty or sixty lives.
Where would the bird have come from that might be
in that house? Our brother is quiet when he responds—
he’ll think on this once we get back to town.

About redmitten

author of Cracking Geodes Open, Making Good Use of August, and The Peppermint Bottle. poetry editor for IthacaLit. website: https://toomuchaugust.wordpress.com

6 responses to “>wing windows

  1. >I sorely miss wing windows….

  2. >hey rox,yeah, me too! these photos are shots of vehicles my second brother owns. nothing like a car that everyone can fit into, and those wing windows! and push button radio! and a trunk big enough to sneak a few friends into the drive-in. . .

  3. >Lovely poem (and car)!Had no idea what wing windows were. Very interesting….

  4. >hey rose,a '66 electra (the seafoam green photos). crusing in a car with wing windows requires a certain mindset and i bet you have it. if you ever get up here, we can talk my brother into a road trip with this car. in a pinch, perhaps the blue pickup. and thank you for the kind comments on the poem. it is still in progress. once, it started with a lady in burgundy waiting for the bus.

  5. >It's such a perfect name for a car – all Oepidal…. Uh, yah, to the roadtrip! I love coming to your blog. I feel like I'm entering a different world. That's one pregnant sheep…. OK, that's a later post. I'd love to see this poem once you finish it. Although I like it now, too.

  6. >rose- it's fun sharing this world and then heading off to other worlds. love the change-up, the contrasts and then the similarities.yeah, can you believe that ewe? turns out she had triplets. and her foot's okay now. my sister ends up with five or six bum lambs that have to be bottle fed. sometimes because of being the third lamb, sometimes because the ewe is a bad mom and won't nurse. we give those ewe's names of all the bad moms we know in our lives. a bit of random info, eh?i am still working on this poem and am glad you are enjoying it. part of the poem has a lady in burgundy shoes waiting for the bus, not caring which way the bus is running. but it needs some time on the back burner.

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