Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 16,000 daily subscribers. Over 7,000 archived posts.
Carolyn Miller: Sunset on the 38 Geary
Each face staring straight ahead, no one speaking,
each rider holding the day carefully, like an egg,
past the piroshki bakeries, past the restaurants
selling pho and bulgoki and Shanghai dumplings
and carnitas, past the Church of the Star of the Sea
on the long blocks of the Outer Lands,
concrete-covered sand dunes reaching out
to the Pacific and the blinding sunset light.
When the bus stops to let the people embark and
disembark, it makes a sound like baby wolves
howling at the moon. We drive on west, into
the sun. Each time the back door opens
it makes a sound like waterfowl
lifting from a lake. And we are hopeful,
even the old ones who struggle up the steps
to slowly ease into the seats reserved for them
and for the injured, and the young ones who think
they never will be old, for we believe that we will be delivered,
that we will be transported in our earthly bodies,
traveling as we are toward Avalon, the Island of the Blest,
with its golden apples and its lake of fire.
Copyright 2017 Carolyn Miller. From Route 66 And Its Sorrows (Terrapin, 2017).
Carolyn Miller grew up in the Missouri Ozarks. Today she lives in San Francisco, where she writes, paints, and works as a free-lance copy editor.
Vox Populi 
I moved to the Bay area a year and a half ago and to San Francisco just this month. The poem is thus deliciously apropos…
LikeLike
Yes, the poet describes the life of the city so exuberantly.
>
LikeLike
“each rider holding the day carefully, like an egg, ”
oh, yes…
LikeLike
Yes, Carolyn is a very subtle poet, isn’t she?
>
LikeLike
The perfect simile…
>
LikeLike
As someone who lived 36 years in San Francisco, I really enjoyed this!
LikeLike
She captures the textures of the city, doesn’t she?
>
LikeLike
The poem takes such a lovely journey!
LikeLike
It really does. I like the way she captures the beauty of urban life.
>
LikeLike