Poetry By Jenna
Kerouac
his family heaved a sigh of relief
the day he hopped a train
and disappeared from their lives
(at least until the following Christmas)
under the trees in the woodlot
his meditation place grew over threaded with wild blue flax
they mowed it under in September for hay
never a postcard
although once a slip of paper
with lines from Han Shen
which his mother pretended to understand
justifying its place on the mantel
out in the Arizona night
home a thousand acres of desert sand
shot through with shadows
the Mexicali girls
brought port
and danced unafraid by the tracks
woke to his absence
and the dawn cinders of the Express
watched the slow sunlight
enter the imprint of his body
and obliterate his passing
(From Aphelion)
© Jenna Butler