Ashland, VA by G Dawson
parked near the interstate
walked into ashland
virginia
past the red light
all those times I was here before
to now see this
there’s a refurbished theater
they’re playing sleepless in seattle
look at hanks
he lost and waited
and still had to go to new york
and on top of a big building
just to see her
there’s a railroad track
an amtrack goes by
carrying opportunity
to anywhere in the northeast
I become dizzy with possibility
of unseen sights
there’s a beautiful college campus
an unseen library awaits another day
the return trip goes by
craftsmen’s printing
they dream in ink
there’s an antique store
where tiny houses sit
in the front window
as I wait for my pizza
I walk past a motel
from another distant time
there’s a sign in front
that says loving
with an arrow pointed west
a man opens the front door
as a stranger walks by
maybe he had seen the sign
in another distant time
and now he too continues to wait
There’s something about this old poem from the Flagstaff Missed Connections that reminds me of the travel associated with the holidays. Thanksgiving trips that return us to another place and time; strangely familiar yet forever changing.
