Liminal Highway by John K. SamsonÂ
when you fall asleep in transitÂ
you rarely wake up much closerÂ
to where you want to beÂ
and you’ve missed the songÂ
you were waiting to hearÂ
coming up after the ad for aÂ
funeral home and the traffic and weatherÂ
in a town you’ll never live inÂ
or even see now that you’ve passed itÂ
in a dream you don’t recallÂ
and you know there is a wordÂ
for those seconds betweenÂ
consciousness and sleep where youÂ
have arrived at your destinationÂ
accomplished your tasks andÂ
concurrently settled into aÂ
big old house that needs some workÂ
next to the funeral homeÂ
with some endlessly interesting andÂ
kind person you love unflinchinglyÂ
and traffic is moving wellÂ
weather is fairÂ
you think that word might be “liminalâ€Â
but you are not certain so you don’tÂ
mention it to the driver who’s nameÂ
you cannot rememberÂ
though you likely know himÂ
as well as you know anyoneÂ
and you are so wearyÂ
with loitering between hereÂ
and there then and thenÂ
beauty and function you wishÂ
you were a three hole punchÂ
sleek shiny black and aÂ
mysteriously pleasant weightÂ
assisting children with theirÂ
school presentations whileÂ
slowly stockpiling confettiÂ
for no particular occasionÂ
just some average dayÂ
suddenly it is needed
