Sunday Drive


After church I watch the ripening cornfields

with sprinkle doughnuts on my lap,

messy treats our children can hardly wait

to consume.

How I’d love to jump into this Jason Aldean song

with you, dropping everything

driving down to the Mississippi at dusk

listening for the night train

and making out wildly under the stars.

Do you remember

when I broke my promise

to never sit in the middle

of a pickup truck?

We rode on the interstate

with wide open windows

blaring Beastie Boys

on our way to pick out rings.

I laughed with my head thrown back

and my hand on your thigh

in that bench seat.

Now we’re separate

in these captain’s chairs:

you working so very hard

to provide for us

to build a future

me working so very hard

to keep our family

to preserve our home.

None of our parents made it this far.

We both grew in hybrid families

by the age of our youngest child.

We’re on this blind-curve road

at a furious pace

without a map.

The mid-thirty press

squeezes out all but leftovers

for us two.

We can’t survive on chaff.

Tears well behind my sunglasses

as I remember what Pastor said:

never grow weary of doing good

never let your dreams die

never give up.

Inside I light a fire

in the hearth of that old dream

of a family who stays together

no matter what

and I reach across the console

to place my hand on your arm.

A wordless reminder:

today we’re moving forward.


10 thoughts on “Sunday Drive

  1. You are so gifted with words Sarah. Such an easy, honest flow to the way you write. It brings images to my mind which doesn’t happen much anymore when I read. huh..just realized that now? Never stop writing. Genuine.

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