Uppercut from the Sun
I once saw the White
And the Red
It was when
the orange crashed into
the blue of the sky
The pinks and the violets
And all of their violence against
The veil hiding us from the stars
It was a war before the clouds
West on I-90
The morning after my grandfather died
I look to my left
And it's there I find
the White
The warning
The retreat
The many bright lights of wonder
of things still unanswered
of the path less traveled
I wonder to myself
just what it is they're running from
At my front
Leading the morning traffic stampede
I find the Red
The beckoning
the call
The gas pedal, the brake pedal
The slight adjustment of either to end it all
The urge
The temptation
the race to be swallowed up into the gray
Before us
I wonder just what it is we're running towards
My grandfather
Was the kind of man
That could punch the sky
and leave a bruise
So on that early morning
I knew it was him peeking over the horizon at me
Bruising the sky as he always had
As he always could have
I was told
That at his passing
Our family adorned the room he lay in
My grandmother, as described to me
A heap of hysterics inconsolable beyond comprehension
You don't know sadness
You don't know heart break
until you've seen it in an 80 year old spanish woman unwillingly thrust into sudden widowhood
As I dip my toes into this
I steal a look into my rear view mirror
And here, again, I see
The White
advancing steadily behind me
In my driver side mirror, the Red
disappearing into the distance
heading east bound
We have been each other these fleeting moments
We have always been each other
Just low beams and brake lights
Passing by one another
I wonder if, maybe,
one of their grandfather's died too
I know this will pass
As will this moment
As all things do
So I guess
I'll just keep driving
Home
Rycheigh Allan is an actor and poet currently residing in Jamestown, NY. Although born in northern California, he considers himself a chip right off the shoulders of the Rocky Mountains that somehow rolled from Colorado all the way to Western NY. He is 27 years old and has a cat named Smore, who remains a permanent fixture in his lap on any given day. You can find him most often sauntering the streets of downtown in search of a place to call home. Find more of his poetry at facebook.com/7Vagabond2 or on his Instagram @rycheighallan.