Driving through Fog (Revised)

Today I post with the JOY Writers in mind.  Let’s say the following poem is an exercise I gave to the group.  I will use it to teach how to write response letters in workshop.

EXERCISE:  Write a poem, essay, memoir, or story exploring the challenges of uncertainty.


On that long highway,

night came and with it



The desert highway of black top

and white lines

formed the whole, round world.

I drove.

Mother was with me.


The fog settled down on the road,

lonely with only a few filmy lights

of fellow travelers.


The fog hid the stars,

the horizon,

the ghostly animals that might

(or might not)

be out there.


The fog cumbered time.

Every mile looked much like every other,

as if rather than going as fast as wisdom

would allow, we were

barely moving.


I thought back to other times

when my kind father would be

at the wheel, me in back

with my brother,

my parents’ voices an assured

murmur over the hum of the highway,

so soothing I always fell asleep.


In this new fog I suspected a secret,

that I knew how my father felt.


He had these straining

eyes and hands and shoulders,

had these straining thoughts,

It’s on me now,

If I fail, we die;

If I make a mistake,

Someone else might die.

Lord, help me.


Mother and I made it home

after tedious hours;

I knew I would make it to my own bed

After the fog lifted and the lights of town

swam into view.


My last thoughts that night

returned to my father,

nice to guess I had

thoughts like his,

when he was in charge

of my world.


In cold daylight, I reconsider.

Maybe he did not think like I thought.

Maybe he felt calm.

He’d been on worse trips;

he’d slept under the decks of battleships;

crawled across bleeding sands;

set aflame men hiding in caves.


Maybe he was as calm

as he sounded

on those dark nights

driving through fog.

About evamccollaum

I am a starting publisher who needs the help of younger people to successfully use social networking. I continuously search for good stories and good writers.
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