DRIVING WITH BOB MARLEY
by Lucette Bernard
just me, my car and the dashed
white lines on a two-lane road.
I want to see everything open before me:
the air rushing at my windshield,
woods and fields and towns passing
in a joyous blur, all four windows down
and reggae music turned up loud enough
to carry my voice all the way to Jamaica.
Once, years ago, I took the curves
of the Blue Ridge Parkway
on faith, Bob Marley’s three little birds
winging my way through patches
of sun and shade and bending me round
narrow passes where mountain springs trickled pure and true
down gray rock faces. Don’t worry,
don’t worry ‘bout a thing, I sang
while pink and purple rhododendron
lit up either side of the road, rain damp
balsam blew in through the window,
and blue mountain vistas fell away
from every overlook. I remember stopping
to take it all in, let it all out again,
spread my arms, my hands
wide to the wind, Is this love,
is this love, is this love that I’m feelin’?
I want to drive like that again.
I want to feel like that again,
the way it comes at you, the wind,
the world, and all that possibility
blowing through the air. And me?
I’m singing. Singing at the top of my lungs,
singing and floating
into the natural mystic,
knowing things are not the way
they used to be but believing,
believing with all I’ve got,
that every little thing gonna be all right.
June 25, 2020