On the Road to Oakridge

Mid-morning and I’m late to a meeting
at the Town Hall, and I’m only outside of Eugene.
But the shy light distracts, no one in front or behind,
a good country tune on the AM station. Then,
as if choreographed, elk enter from each side
of the highway, seven of them—and I’m following,
as if without hands on the wheel, and they’re
pulling me, as if they knew I needed this ride—
the chance to breathe deep, in control of nothing.
And we travel like that for miles, smooth and steady,
and we travel like that until Oakridge approaches
around the final bend in the road—until the elk part,
as gracefully as they’d come—like the Red Sea,
only kind and silent.

 

Marilyn Johnston is an Oregon writer and filmmaker. She received a fellowship from Oregon Literary Arts, a Robert Penn Warren prize, and selection as a Fishtrap Fellow for her poetry. She is the author of a chapbook, Red Dust Rising, and a recent full collection, Before Igniting (2020, Rippling Brook Press).  Her work has appeared widely, in such publications as Natural Bridge, Poetica Magazine, and Rough Places Plain:  Poems of the Mountains.  She teaches creative writing as part of the Artists-in-the-Schools program.

Willawaw Journal

Share
Published by
Willawaw Journal

Recent Posts

Notes from the Editor

Hello Readers, You know how it is when you focus on something like maybe your…

2 months ago

Terry Adams

Lost (2) I like to spend just a few hours once in awhile not knowing…

2 months ago

Frank Babcock

Portrait of Emily She sits in the bedroom window like curtains, whitely gazing down at…

2 months ago

Stephen Barile

Underground Gardens Legend was, After a quarrel with his father, He left Sicily behind And…

2 months ago

Llewynn Brown

Their fair share We turn at the band stand because you say it’s getting dark.…

2 months ago