Lincoln Highway – A Poem by Amelia Kibbie

New York, New York

1914 Times Square

This city, our homegrown gotham

the gateway to America

and the road started there or ended — beginnings and endings

are muddled, as is our mixed memory
and truth-stained history.

Named for Lincoln

who put pen to paper and called for freedom

freedom, the siren song of the automobile

“Life is a Highway”

“Every Day is a Winding Road”

“Bacon and eggs to fix…”

Never mind that the children of those he freed

had to use the Green Book to

keep them safe as they traversed this path

and many others.

Was that freedom?

Nostalgia is not memory

but from sea to shining sea,

follow the hood ornament

until you’ve reached the terminus

the Golden Gate, so named

by a pathfinder-colonizer

All that’s left is the open ocean.

Think of this place

where we stand

as a bead strung on a necklace

that adorns the decolletage of our country

some jewels bigger or more intricate than others

but hanging on the same chain

and just as precious.

Traveled to this day,

the roads were the pride of ancient Rome

a piece of history, yes

but to us

this road leads home.