I hold the steering wheel
of the car in my hands,
I hold the world,
gripping tightly
its vinyl over hard plastic,
able to turn on a point
with my power steering,
peering over the dashboard
out through the windshield
at a world I seem to control,
driving at a whim on excellent freeways
to any point on or beyond the horizon.
O complacent illusion of control,
until I remembered last night's dream—
My father appeared,
my father who died five years ago.
'I'm here! ' he said. 'Touch me! '
I reached out and touched.
You are here! ' I gasped,
comforted, and woke up,
and he was gone,
and remains gone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
didn't like this as much as the crew of 1976 poem although the final 2 lines were a great close. one thing i'll say about both poems is the line breaks seem to me to be a bit out of sync sometimes for example the opening two lines of this poem.