Pacific Coast Highway: a phone note travelogue

there’s traffic

on every shelf asphalt sparkles softly like a traffic camera flashing

from below

“no flash photography” might rub out the sky

fog crested hills like the meaty part of the thumb disappear

in handfuls of water

***

all the bridges have tolls start debates about who’s paying

whose turn

to finger detritus a t the bottom of one’s pocket purse or

console

from what they collect the most important more

than money are these

money conversations

***

two planes are flying tragically close together

the pilot said “let’s get you there uneventfully”

it’s now a positive adjective: uneventful

the bathrooms are uneventful this ride is eventful

CLEAN BATHROOMS ARE FOR CUSTOMERS ONLY “I’ll

take a dirty one please”

cousin says “you can’t take just one” the bag of chips is larger than

her head

so I take a second to prove her right

***

we pass a batch of bright buildings father says “those are horizontal colors”

cousin wants fruit from a roadside stand yells “banan to nie

owoc!” search

word puzzles can be completed in any language we tried playing

Scrabble with a Hungarian

board but it quickly became impossible there were twelve k’s

***

nothing stings more than missed opportunity even driving

a bag of legs into a forest of nettles

like passing a photogenic spot in a carful of people

so everyone takes a photo from one’s seat tries to piece

back together

the view

pieces back together the car

***

“turn headlights on” leads to a graveyard on a lone curvy road as if

each person there were killed by a drink

“report drunk drivers” to which father says “it must be the climate

for these nine miles”

or have I mixed up the signs?

***

sometimes we shed our beliefs when for a time they do not

serve us

like drinking water is the ultimate cure

sleeping seven and a half hours is just right

as long as the car doesn’t change its speed it is impossible to feel

motion

sick

reading

Mary Szybist: could it have been anyone any virgin? soft car

masturbation

a thumb caved in just the right place nighttime anxiety

curtailed by the realization that dying

right now would mean I’d die in my sleep or natural disaster

gender less

a teenage clerk in Salinas says “you can use the men’s if you want”

spatter makes for pretty lace

***

we are surrounded by people

with accent homes

a green tractor sits in a green field surely for aesthetics

the cows are facing north

“it’s showing me two miles”

“it’s showing me three and a half ”

“it’s because you’re sitting in back!”

***

how much effort does it take to see the world the word in

Polish is poświęcić to give up

cousins święci (saints) świecić (to shine) effort breaks up life’s

monotony monotony’s

monopoly one travels only as far as money can stretch

catering taste to circumstance

“when I was your age all I could do was look at a map the school had

put up”

will someone travel to each of my body parts

to see if it’s clear

***

a writing tip: find a beautiful fact about an animal plant or insect

discuss it in detail then say “I’d do the same”

especially when it comes to reproduction everything is poetic

***

the tangle of parents in the front seats brainstorms

“what’s taking them so long?”

“maybe there’s traffic” “maybe they left late”

I laugh let in on the secret

they’re twenty and on vacation in America

they probably stopped to have sex in American ways

“even if you’re in a loving relationship with a man with a big

dick at some point he will wag it in front of you and you will

reluctantly

do something about it” men with smaller

egos are more resourceful

with their hands mouths

“she’s a little feminist” mother says

when she needs to resolve something I’ve said

***

it’s only when I listen to “no”

podcast by The Heart Radio that I understand I have been pressured

by my first boyfriend

“you’re just going to keep building it up in your head

we’re never going to do it”

do I regret it?

no but I also don’t regret the late heavy dinner

it’s not almighty not regretting

dating can be better

than love

you still have your wits about you so you know what’s good

bad for you

you can use him

as a subject without projecting too much emotion

***

horrible motel

drug deals? the reception is behind glass

all of us need to present our IDs

uncle aunt and cousins slip her their German cards

is this a joke? I imagine the receptionist mirroring what

father says under his breath

she looks at us intently as if calculating

who she finds the least attractive

blood on the carpet roaches in the bathroom

the stairs leading up to the rooms under scrutiny by the sprinkler

yet we can’t find a parking spot

a man naked from waist up marches up and down the stairs

at midnight

smells like perfume must and cleaning products

cousin is suddenly nauseous

the parents think it’s the drive long hours reading the sea

but I know this secret too anxiety jumped

a generation from grandmother

to her and me I tell her we can talk I have learned

to cope

but she’s still too young to refuse her mother’s coddling

***

they look for a match to light the stove

I walk up

light it for them “this isn’t Poland”

***

lady at the pier “what language are you speaking?” slowly

deciphering the European cuts ribeye tongue eye round

a mouth around

“I went to Warsaw once took cover at a restaurant

unopen

they saw me shivering offered me tea infused with cherry

syrup and vodka

I haven’t tasted anything since”

***

each of us knows a combination of Polish English German

which makes speaking a translation

guessing game

who understands who doesn’t

only cousin knows all three

born in Poland grew up in Germany forced to learn English

***

he’s a piece of ripe fruit I’m going to squeeze

he’s a piece of rope fruit I’m going to hang

onto

***

I try to read the people around me

are talking and watching TV

I get distracted angry at myself

but what if reading means incorporating distractions as part

of the experience

like when I’m distracted by thoughts of you

you enter the vague lattice of my feelings

***

I spill coffee and hide it with my thigh

a surge of chamomile and lavender

evoke grandmother’s perfume

***

one car window open warm hair whipping wind perfect view

until mother says something about the window being open the AC

being on

so we go through a dance

of AC turning off windows going up down

never returning to the same state of perfection