Sue Chenette - storm

She was nowhere, between there and here,
sailing six lanes of concrete,
signposts bobbing like flotsam,
her mind keeling along yellow lines
in a monotony of sunlight.

A song on the radio—
you know the one,
by Schubert, or John and Paul,
or Mahler. It blew in
unexpected: remembered melody
rousing what used to rise
from sweet dark tones,
something tall and golden,
some life she’d meant to live.
Passing semis startled her
with their swift, heavy purpose,
she drove buffeted
by gusts of regret,
each green/white exit now
some turn she might
have missed, tires keening
on the highway for time
slipped by

until
she reached the outskirts
of the city she called home,
where streets came out to meet her
filled with dailiness—
the turn to a friend’s house,
entrance to a garden store,
laneway behind a library
lulled her
into a safe harbour,
whispered, enough.