Anyone who has traveled long distances in a car with a young child is familiar with the following question: Are we there yet? I have to admit my young daughter was a great passenger. When she was about five years old, we drove all the way from Massachusetts to Virginia in one day to visit my mother-in-law who lived in Williamsburg. Sara, my daughter, sat in the back seat with her favorite stuffed animals, a package of tasty snacks and juice boxes, some books, and her pillow. She was quiet and didn't get impatient during our long journey, didn't seem to mind spending so much time strapped into the backseat of our car as it droned down the highway. I think maybe riding in the car put her in a state akin to that of a person while meditating. Only once or twice do I recall her asking us if we were there yet.
When I read R. Virgil Ellis’s poem, it brought to mind all the trips my husband and I took with Sara when she was little—trips to Virginia and Maryland…to Maine and Vermont. I have such fond memories of those times.
So here’s to poetry and to long car trips and to memories of happy times spent traveling with our kids.
Are We There Yet
by R. Virgil Ellis
you'd say, tired of our prompting
to see the world as you should:
train-thunder as we go under a trestle,
smiling face painted on a barn.
You'd even get bored looking for signs
that had the rare q, x, or z.
Are we there yet?
So we gave up telling you the miles
and just said, we're closer, getting closer…
You can read the rest of the poem here at The Writers’ Almanac with Garrison Keillor.
I have a post about Poetry and Art at Wild Rose Reader today.
Today's Poetry Friday Roundup is at Mentor Texts, Read Alouds & More.