Going to the Coast<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
begins with a crush
\nof drivers not going to the coast,
\nthe crisp, fall evening rushing by your windows,
\nthe warmth from the heater,<\/p>\n
darkness of the front seat.
\nHer hand rests across your thigh.
\nThe damp motel waits quietly for you to arrive
\nwhere the manager will greet you<\/p>\n
like a favorite nephew, happy
\nyou\u2019re here and press the key to your palm.
\n\u201cRm 8\u201d it will say, allowing entrance
\nto knotty pine and mold,<\/p>\n
but you\u2019re not quite there.
\nYou make that turn off the highway
\nat the red neon\u2014a vacancy for you.
\nShe gently squeezes the back<\/p>\n
of your neck, moves her hand
\ninto your hair as the car rolls to a stop,
\nchecks her face in the visor mirror.
\nYou switch off the motor and turn to her,<\/p>\n
and the engine ticks as it cools.
\nOut beyond the beach grass
\nand the feeble porch lights, the ocean
\nthat you know must be there roars.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Steven Quig\u2019s<\/a> first experience with writing poetry came as a member of Nelson Bentley\u2019s evening poetry workshop at the University of Washington during the early 1980s. \u00a0 He now teaches English at North Seattle Community College, and his work has appeared in a number of journals including Poetry Northwest, The Seattle Review, The Climbing Arts, The Memphis State Review<\/em>, Spitball: The Literary Magazine of Baseball<\/em>, Pontoon<\/em>, and others, including Metro\u2019s Poetry on the Buses <\/em>anthology.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Going to the Coast begins with a crush of drivers not going to the coast, the crisp, fall evening rushing by your windows, the warmth from the heater, darkness of the front seat. Her hand rests across your thigh. … Continue reading