Poetry by Alice Collinsworth
I start the journey to see him before dawn, a long stretch
of interstate highways and two-lane roads to follow,
traveling alone a long distance with only the voice
of my mapping app for company. I turn
on the radio for a while, looking for distraction, but time
passes slowly nonetheless. I turn it off again. Straight
ahead is the entrance ramp to I-35. “Drive straight
for 148 miles,” Google instructs me. This stretch
is well known, comfortable, traveled many times
to class reunions or family gatherings in Kansas. “Follow
the yellow brick road,” as they say there. I turn
my mind to autopilot and talk to myself, my voice
rising above the hum of the tires; the only voice
answering is the one in my head (not always on straight,
I admit, muddling conversations). I can turn
that inner voice off sometimes, but not today. It’s a stretch
to engage with it, honestly, but we reminisce together. I follow
a red Peterbilt to Wichita, making good time.
From there it’s a less-familiar route, traveled only a few times,
northeast to Kansas City to see my son. His voice
on the phone had sounded so earnest, beseeching – so I follow
the compass of my heart, though our relationship was never straight-
forward. There were years we barely spoke, long stretches
of distance and silence. He has reached out now, so it’s my turn
to make the effort, to reach back. We had issues, but he’s turned
out so very well, and I yearn to be there now. This time
I’m determined to connect, to build that bridge. I stop to stretch
my legs and buy coffee at a truck stop, where the cashier’s voice
reminds me of my own late mother – a strait-
laced woman if there ever was one, who followed
her Bible’s rules doggedly. One of the rare, true followers
of Christ, she called herself. “You must turn
from your evil ways,” she would admonish my son. “Strait
and narrow is the gate, you know.” She railed at him so many times
that we stopped going to her, stopped calling. I don’t want my own voice
to sound like hers. Love needs to bend, to expand, to stretch
and embrace. I follow the guidance of the GPS and not my mom this time,
turning onto the last highway that leads to the voice of my dear son,
heading straight to him, stretching out my arms.
Alice Collinsworth worked in journalism, writing and media relations during her career and is now happily retired with her cat, Cookie, to keep her company. Her poems and stories have appeared in several online journals and local collections. She has won numerous awards in regional contests. She lives in Oklahoma.
