Flamenco at the Thirsty Bear. Jim Gunshinan

About Jim Gunshinan
Dedication
Home

POEMS
 • The Artificial Heart
 • Heroes
 • Geography Lessons
 • Blue Cornflowers
 • Living by Water
 • Upon This Rock
 • The Man Dad Brought
    Home from the War
 • Physics
 • Black and White
 • Not the Mom We Were
    Used To
 • Nothing Sacred
 • Spring
 • Transformation
 • Please Straighten That Up
 • Up from Depression
 • What the Body Wants
 • Compassion
 
Commute
 • Kiss Me
 • Starter Castles
 • Flamenco at the Thirsty
    Bear
 • A Nature Poem
 • Portrait of a Woman from
   the Gardens of Egypt in the
   First Century

 

 

Commute

Driving to work in the morning
along Grizzly Peak Road
I see, as usual
San Francisco Bay, the Golden Gate

with fog around its ankles, the City of
Oakland in the foreground, gray rooftops.
Off to the side, semicircles of downed eucalyptus
trees mark the parking spaces

of scenic overlooks. The tree trunks are joined
by thick chains.
There’s a solitary red pickup truck
with no one inside to enjoy the view.

I drive down and into a curve
the car’s second gear holds my speed, gently
and a lucid joy
begins everywhere at once.

My density is that of the car seat
the air, the trees
and the sun shining through the windshield.
For a moment, I am the light

and the glass though which it passes.


  © Jim Gunshinan, 2013
 

NEXT POEM >>   

Back to top