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,
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
