You Bring Out the Dirt Road in Me

After Sandra Cisneros

… for Jack

You bring out the dirt road in me.

The winding, uncharted turns in me.

The hard packed earth ––

smells delicious after the rain.

You bring out the wild river in me.

I’d flood a whole town and take the bridges with me.

        For you, yes.

        For you.

You bring out the small town in me.

The radical white-haired politician in me.

The fire on the mountain in October.

The yellow barn and the bumble bee.

The melancholic song of the loon.

You bring out the crispness of November nights in me.

I am the glow of a wood stove.

        Baby, I can keep you warm.

        Oh, yes. I can.

You bring out the wine stained sky in me.

The flannel-lined inebriation in me.

You bring out the funk in me.

The playful boogie of bluegrass.

Hips sway like the limbs of the

        Maple Sugar Tree.

                You like it.

                Yes, you do.

You bring out the wanderer in me.

The howl of winter.

The drive all night to see you,

in me.

You bring out the wife in me.

The Let’s grow roots and stay forever

in these mountains ––

the first place I called home.

But you bring out the home in me.

You are the only one

I’d leave these dirt roads for.

I’d trade them for traffic,

so much traffic,

concrete, and the Golden Gate Bridge.

        For you. Oh yes.

        I would.