RWB Workshop Poem of the Week – December 26

Poem of the Week 12/26/17

Claudia Serea

Winter break, 1988

We traveled first by freezing train
through the blizzard,
in the dark of the early morning,
hours and hours, through empty landscapes,

then by rickety bus
until it stopped
when the road wasn’t plowed any further,
and the driver said,
You’re on your own, kids.

There were no cell phones.
No one around.

We started on foot,
two dots
in the vast, wind-swept plain,

you, in your suit and wool coat,
hair slicked back,

and me in my long skirt
and high-heeled boots,
all dolled-up and hair-sprayed,
to impress
the future in-laws.

When we got tired,
we sat on the roadside
and ate frozen sandwiches.

We were the only man and woman in the world,
leaving behind
a shaky set of footsteps.

A cart piled up high with firewood passed by,
and the drunken peasant
picked us up.

We perched on top
of the white fields
until the next village
where the man went home.

So we were again on foot
until a car
filled to the roof with bread loaves
stopped
and we crowded in the back
in the warm fresh scent.

We rode through sheets of snowy night,
red-nosed,
glowing eyes,

and we weren’t cold at all.

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