Highway 41, between Appleton and Oshkosh, 5:30 AM
With the other pilgrims we fall
into the ragged line,
holding our red lanterns,
two by two or four,
and though we do not speak
or even nod
to the white-lanterned pilgrims
who come from where we go,
who go to whence we come,
we are glad to see them:
they let us believe
that others like us
are at the end.
I wrote this on my way to a literature conference in Normal, IL. I was probably reading something medieval at the time, because I imagined the northbound cars (“white-lanterned pilgrims”) and the southbound cars (“holding our red lanterns”) as streams of pilgrims passing each other on the way between holy sites.
