Nashville Nights
Late this May the
Rocky Hill Memorial
drew the white
’59 Bel Air with fins
onto the road through
southern Illinois.
More southern still
through Kentucky in
the dark, and slowing
with Nashville’s downtown
in the midst of the night.
Hours of sleep
head lying on
the back seat floor hump
unconscious with the
teasing, the pushing abandoned
as the heat of the day
and the road collapsed
in the darkness behind.
The fragrance of honeysuckle
permeated and ended sleep,
a powdered and scented woman
brushing past in the crowd;
accented with the perfection
of a city sleeping in a
phosphorescent light,
quiet as morning
deep in the woods;
broken only by the flashing
yellow lights, stop signs,
and random greens and reds;
the air moved through
the car, palpable,
soft, encompassing,
and immemorial;
a perfection of the
Nashville night.
Somewhere in northern
Mississippi we were
bears sprawled each
on top a picnic table
amongst coolers and clothes,
arms and legs stiff
from sleeping in the open air,
covered by southern pine,
the gentle morning light
slipped in along the ground
waiting for the Mississippi heat.
Nashville
July 11, 2004
Greenfield Series
©2004 Nashville Night — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
Rocky Hill Memorial
drew the white
’59 Bel Air with fins
onto the road through
southern Illinois.
More southern still
through Kentucky in
the dark, and slowing
with Nashville’s downtown
in the midst of the night.
Hours of sleep
head lying on
the back seat floor hump
unconscious with the
teasing, the pushing abandoned
as the heat of the day
and the road collapsed
in the darkness behind.
The fragrance of honeysuckle
permeated and ended sleep,
a powdered and scented woman
brushing past in the crowd;
accented with the perfection
of a city sleeping in a
phosphorescent light,
quiet as morning
deep in the woods;
broken only by the flashing
yellow lights, stop signs,
and random greens and reds;
the air moved through
the car, palpable,
soft, encompassing,
and immemorial;
a perfection of the
Nashville night.
Somewhere in northern
Mississippi we were
bears sprawled each
on top a picnic table
amongst coolers and clothes,
arms and legs stiff
from sleeping in the open air,
covered by southern pine,
the gentle morning light
slipped in along the ground
waiting for the Mississippi heat.
Nashville
July 11, 2004
Greenfield Series
©2004 Nashville Night — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.