Dappled Light, Romona Youngquist, 24 X 18, Oil
TRANSPORTING URANIUM BY NIGHT
Medieval dark, the sun dollop gone down,
Prairie wind now hushed: ten hours
Of driving is enough to clarify or confound.
Test of logic: There are six sides to every
Question? Tired, you forget what you were
Thinking; tired, you lean against the door-post;
Your face floats at the window mouthing a name.
West and south, wedges of light wash the cobalt
Blue-black-sky, fall over the earth’s edge.
Someone you remember sleeps there, falls into
A dream opening like a white flower petal-by-petal,
Someone who dances barefoot along a garden path.
Truck in low, you shift up pedal down and push hard
Abstractedly discovering something more about yourself.
Cold glow of eyes in grass along the roadside.
What sensibility thrives there well-fed and sleek,
Glaring the length of the highway waiting in terrible
Vigilance holding its breath for another
Thump and scream, for another scrap lying wet?
You remember what we bring and give to our dead,
Push harder and wonder why you lack a sense of guilt.