Stranded On The Road

On and on in all directions
palmetto, sand, and slash pines stretch,
stiff grained and upright, as shadows
fall, reach back the way we’ve come.

Earlier my ocean fervor
imagined us refreshed, a drive of
seaside sights, awash with breezes,
our family fun in salty air.

Still weak from surgery and stroke
he smiles and gestures, yes and no.
His broken language drags, murmurs
to my suggestions like this ride.
Wrapped in grandma’s fragile arms
our baby, six months old, sleeps on,
while her five-year old big sister,
face pressed to pane, pleads, Mom take me.

Edgy, one thumb extended, I
stand the length of desolation
begging to be taken, when
a camper driver brakes his speed.

I force my anxiety to run
from our stalled car, the four of them,
their eyes searching, wanting
me to come back real quick.

The camper couple cleared a bench,
drove east for miles and miles, while
I measured minutes, some desires
to flee responsibility, my world
there, waiting for a wrecker.

Today, I remember them,
that mechanic, crawling,
patience, and the damaged parts,
those rescuers leaving me
alone to navigate the rest.