LEAP YEAR SUNRISE
February 29, 2004
I wake up on the couch at Jake’s house.
Larry David’s Curb Your Enthusiasm is on the TV.
He’s the real George from Seinfeld.
I want to sleep in my own bed.
I sneak out the door into the dark.
I climb into my Chevy Corsica and drive away.
I head up Route 60 until I see signs for I-79 North.
The roads are empty, the rest of the world is still sleeping.
For once I can hear my own thoughts, without interference.
I wish I was waking up in my childhood bedroom.
Maybe somebody is getting ready for church.
I’m not part of a congregation in my college town.
A church is a gathering of imperfect people
which is sometimes good, sometimes bad
but today I crave a connection with the here and now.
Through ritual we chase stories of old—
we dream up images into our visible world.
Would I earn more favor if I go see The Passion of the Christ?
What if the real God was riding shotgun with me?
The maker, the spirit, creator of the sun.
I slide in a Five for Fighting CD and listen to
John Ondrasik count through ages in a century.
His gentle voice and the soothing piano keys
make me feel less alone, a little less weary.
…time to lose yourself within a morning star.
Sunlight breaks over the horizon as I pass exit 73.
My demeanor has shifted from solitude—
to being overcome with a desperate desire to be known.
My passenger seat is empty, but I pretend the maker is with me.
I forget my deficiencies and imagine footprints in the sand.
Every day’s a new day. Maybe you know who I am…
The hope of a new sunrise breaks through—
Another blink of an eye, tears shine.
I drive north to Zelienople
and onward to Slippery Rock.
There’s still time for me.
