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      May 2, 2017I Speed Toward the MoonConstance Hanstedt

      On a deserted Oakland freeway
      after a leisurely June evening
      of free writes and rough drafts
      I speed toward the moon.
      Kmart’s red neon flashes off Fruitvale,
      an exit I avoid like a freshly tarred road
      blistering in the grasp of noonlight.
      I watch the moon slide smoothly into
      a pearl pocket of clouds as if a love letter
      slipping into a fine linen envelope.
      KFOG calls me back, as does a jet
      black Harley darting from center to left,
      its single lamp now a piercing spotlight.
      Too close, I gasp, too close.
      We part as the freeway splits, where
      three white crosses tower over curving
      concrete and rise to the brilliant round
      burst of the moon.

      from #19 - Summer 2003

      Constance Hanstedt

      “After six or eight hours of payroll and personnel, I drive what others refer to as ‘the long way’ home. Unlike the roaring freeway, the snappy boulevards trimmed with small pines and pink myrtles soothe me. Later, alone in my bedroom, I shape the earth’s hues and tones into phrases and lines. The form suits me. Writing poetry ensures a wonderful day.”

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