In March the bluebonnets spread across the flat open fields
like old blue curtains carelessly dropped.
On closer inspection their stalks are thick and light green,
their leaves downed with soft white fur;
they look too frail to survive in this harsh landscape.
My heart explodes with tenderness.
They have no scent but they fill the air with a promise of freshness.
In March it is too early for the grass
(swaying in a slow waltz with the cedar trees)
to have been burnt yellow by the relentless Texas sun.
On I-10 at night at about mile 600
I once saw God.
I was sixteen and I remember I wept.
I was alone in my pickup with all my possessions,
I was leaving my mother¹s house forever.
I cried because God was all I had and
because the stars were bright enough to hurt my eyes.
On I-10 at night around mile 600
the stars are blinding.
Five years later in my Honda
which had seen
Redwoods-
Vancouver-
two oceans and the Gulf of Mexico-
the desert-
tornadoes-
a swarm of cicadas-
and me in every aspect-
I sang at the top of my lungs
and laughed to breathe the old Texas dust.
Scatter my ashes in that dust.
On US I-10 I know the rhythm of the road
when you get close enough to Houston to smell it:
the highway bounces beneath my car like a good horse in a strong canter.
I know my way by that.
On US I-10 I always know my way.
I know all the billboards and gas stations and
"TruXtops"
and where to get the cheapest Blue Bell Ice Cream
and how far to the next grilled cheese sandwich
and how many miles from my mother's house to mine
and whether I¹ll make it on the amount of sleep I've had.
In Texas the oak trees have leaves like the elms have everywhere else
and grow stooped like old women bent by remembering.
In Texas I never need a scarf and coat and gloves,
just jeans and a jacket and my car.
At my grandmother¹s house in Texas it was 54 degrees on Christmas
Day.
The sky there is large enough to house my uncertainty
and there¹s room leftover for hope.
In Texas I am barefoot
I am sitting on porches
drinking sweet tea
swatting mosquitoes and dodging roaches.
I would never walk anywhere.
If I were in Texas I would be
Well On My Way,
I would be
Almost Home.
I would be tipping my hat to the white blue sky
which would tip its hat back to me in a slow sunset
reflected in my rear view mirror
blinding me to everything I'd already driven through.
Even the birds have a drawl in Texas
and wear many different hats
and respect a good pair of boots.
I would make my peace with God
on US I-10 at about mile 600,
halfway to everywhere.
By mile 600 I will have had enough time to pick my path carefully
and time enough left to relax.
The flowers are quiet but not shy in Texas
and didn¹t I learn from them?