Examination

On my long drive east across the plains

I’m taken aback. A line of wind turbines—

slow clockwise turning—

inform me

there is a limit

on the life

I have left.

Q: Does your increased awareness of death increase its actual proximity?

Suddenly it is vitally important,

I want my road-weary brain to understand—

that were I to be driving west,

the graceful slow turbines would turn

counterclockwise.

Yet my rear view mirror confirms,

time moves clockwise

as I drive east toward the home of my lover.

We’re both old enough now

to contemplate death.

Too soon to know,

if we will still be together, then.

Q: How does your fear of dying alone factor into the number of miles you are willing to drive,

in order to be held while you cry?

The first half of this journey—

the odometer clocked 1,200 miles in two days—

a captive closeness with, and departure from

my son, who’s now begun his freshman year of college.

Q: Write an equation to describe how the speed at which you move forward toward your lover is

affected by your increased distance from your son?

Q: Will your son love you more the longer he is gone, and by what magnitude;

will your lover miss you more, and to what degree, if you return less often to his bedroom?

Extra Credit: Did you take this lover to decrease the pain felt by the removal of your son’s

affections? Please explain, using diagrams as necessary.

I drive past fields of potatoes, my son’s favorite

and of course fields of corn—

I’ve eaten the sweetest of sweet corn with my lover.

I do not know how to account for this new variable

when the next fenceline sign informs me,

in this field, here, they grow onions.