Poetry by Linda Appel
Hurtling through the dark, a blue glow
brightening the dashboard, headlights
peeling away the black veil ahead.
Encapsulated in space unseen
and unknown, suspended
alone and alive
in a desert of nothingness.
Nothing to do but drive,
nothing to see but a narrow
length of pavement. To hear?
Only the rush of tires, the shallow
breath of one dozing beside me.
Alone between today and tomorrow,
between here and there
Linda Knowlton Appel has lived beside the Willamette River for more than thirty-five years and now the river flows through her poems. A retired librarian, her poems have been published in various journals including Willawaw Journal, Shot Glass Journal, and others. She has also published two chapbooks.