Poetry |
Alchemy
by Angie Minkin
It’s all about love--
Maceo’s sax wails and sends us grooving south on I-5. We merge with the semis and SUVs to navigate that clogged artery. Burnt leather buffalo ridges dwarf us. We seek misty mountains through the haze. We meet at rest stops and gas stations. Can we hold the joy? Chinese toddlers with bowl haircuts clutch boxes of blueberries, chase each other between their mother’s legs, can’t stop giggling. A gap-toothed Indian grandmother, proud queen in a green-gold sari links arms with a bored teenager who has eyes only for the phone tethered to her thumbs. We share a table with an Iranian family, haunting brown eyes and diaphanous scarves. Their elaborate picnic of dolmas and baba ganoush shames our plebian turkey sandwiches. I play peek-a-boo with a giggly Latina niña. Her mama beams as she smooths the baby’s red ruffles. Her hands are golden brown; mine a mottled pink, an accident of birth. Our hearts move to the same rhythms. Our roots merge in deepest earth. |