Into the Teeth of the Wind
Back cover poem from Volume I, Issue 3
Old Montana Medley
I’m listening to you
but not listening to you.
I haven’t seen your face
in days, but driving is like that.
You could be anyone
but her. She’s Washington
rain, Seattle streets. She’s
cross-legged in the corner
of the used bookshop on Main.
Montana could be a roadside
flower or rusted signpost.
A red raincoat saddled over
barbed wire. Anything blue
passing through the windshield.
Or the song you suddenly
remember waking up to
summer mornings in your
parents’ bed. The one
I’ll find myself whistling
sometime when you too
are no longer around.