Cars

Even though I don’t like cars

never owned one am not much

of a driver last night I dreamt, again,

that my car (what kind was it?

I have no idea. Maybe a Honda) was

somewhere I didn’t remember

in a Big Parking Lot probably

in Upstate New York

although I’d like to believe

it was somewhere unfamiliar

where I’d like to go

Missoula, Montana and I couldn’t

find the car where had I parked it

why was I there in the first place

and I felt anxious about not knowing

where the car was until I remembered

that I don’t much like cars so

not having a car didn’t matter because

I could always walk home.

Esther Cohen

Let me tell you why I’m here, and why I hope you’ll join me.
I am here to poem, to play with words, to tell stories when I can, and to ask you for yours. Words are what I love, how I see, and what I say. Words are how I know my life, and how I find my friends. I’m here to ask you to join me. Right here. To send me your stories, and your poems. And to read mine when you can.

2 Comments

  1. Several years ago I attended a packed Christmas Eve service in an old Catholic Church in St. Ignatius, MO. Indians and babies everywhere. They asked to be called Indians. The choir sang Oh Come All Ye Faithful in Salish. Yes, go to Montana.

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