Southwards in Song

did I say the time we wrote a song together in the old green ’51 Chevy driving down

to San Francisco? dad grinning at the wheel and I the big boy riding co-pilot

with great maps wrinkled spread across my happy lap, the day unfolding

like a fan of peacock feathers through the bug stained windshield, leaving Portland

at 3 or 4 in the morning, little sisters, brother and mom in the back seat, because

we all were too excited to sleep and so let's pile in the car and head south

through black night and the many miles into the magical city arching

through dawn as we cross the Golden Gate Bridge --

Oh! the Golden Gate, orange sun emerging strong and sudden from bluest sky over

infinite Pacific waters! and our chorus of song belting out ‘California Here We Come’

traversing the great span which seemed to represent pure joy, a kind of freedom

and play and goodness not known often enough at home —

and smiles, big smiles and laughter like a fountain bursting from us

in the packed car. Yes, I can hear these family vacations when screaming and

god-awful tensions at the dinner table where mom’s nourishing meat loaf and mashed

potatoes and our father’s blaming and mocking were on the menu and how

those screams and laments dissipated for a blessed week or two at a blessed time and I looked 
at him without fear breathing in my father's face and being, then even his eyes were soft, he 
was a good and safe man for this while who loved me and his life, which was not always 
the case back north in the gray unforgiving drizzle and the day to day of worry and wear and 
shoes left out on living room floors by seven-year old ungrateful bastards.

this may tell some of why I shall always love the city of steep hills on the bay

with its Chinatown, beatnik bookstores, Italian coffeehouses, Nob Hill cathedral

and clanging cable cars pulling us higher and higher towards a slice of heaven

where peaceful easy jokes and crooning together as family at the table over plates

of pasta, soft Italian bread with real butter and vanilla ice cream floating in espresso,

this place where we sit in smooth wooden booths nourished together 
without threat of punishment or shame.      
                                     .