You got Lucero’d. —RM
Driving west on the turnpike, clouds each oil-
paintings, back of backlit forsythia, May’s bright
new grass, I remember a Fung Wah ride east
on this turnpike, the first skunk cabbages
neon green surveyor’s flags, flickering through
bare woods. Listening to an iPod nano she’d
loaded with Lucero for my ride. Forehead
to the window, tears coursing down. Generous,
opulent tears for Let It All Burn, for
Anjalee—not because of any sorrow, drama,
loss: everything was fine. I was a grownup,
heading home after visiting my best friends. But you
can miss your friends, love long bus rides through America
alone, Lucero, skunk cabbage, profligate tears.
The winner of three Pushcart prizes, poet JILL MCDONOUGH taught incarcerated college students for thirteen years. She teaches in the MFA program at UMass-Boston and directs 24PearlStreet, the Fine Arts Work Center online.