Grateful to the Remington Review for publishing my poem and including me with the fine authors in the current issue.
This poem links Hemingway’s influence on my writing and his polydactyl cats. And it recalls the polydactyl cats my sister raised in upstate New York. I often wonder if she unknowingly adopted one of Hemingway’s family.
Recalling the odd yellow clouds and rain in Nevada earlier on our road trip, this storm is equally unexpected and much scarier.
North of Flagstaff on Highway 89 we see signs of water shortage—no campfires allowed, no charcoal. Ominous clouds cling to mountain peaks, but we’re driving at a lower elevation across the high desert listening to The Beatles.
As soon as we hear the riffs for “Here Comes the Sun,” the rain spits then gushes. White knuckling the steering wheel, I pull off the road and park three times. I creep out between cells only to coast off again.
Having experienced many whiteouts from snow, this was my first water-out, and I hope my last. Fortunately the cars on the two-lane highway drive slowly and many stop on the shoulder near us. No accidents as far as we know.
Wish we could drag the rain home to California to help quench the horrible fires.
Friends on the road in western Kansas, Pearl waiting for her turn to drive. Look closely and you’ll see a cat’s head nestled under Pearl’s nose.