Intersections

by Brady Read

My Aunt calls me a city mouse.

My neighbors’ laughs leak

through my ceiling and floor.

Strangers’ cigarettes warm my face

against the bay’s bitter fog.

Squealing tires and accusatory horns

Silence the silence of the night.

Roads interrupt each other.

The mice scurry across,

Afraid of being caught in the middle.

I bask in the blur.

Where is everyone going?

The soothing chaos of the city.

A busy intersection.

I confirmed to my family

I would refuse my confirmation.

I dreaded the formality of church.

The strict tradition;

The ancient rituals.

A week later, my grandfather called.

I assumed he would yell,

But he didn’t say a word.

He came for lunch.

He asked questions,

But never too many before making a joke.

Slowly, his gentleness turned me.

His path nudged mine.

“Faith is informal.”

“It’s saying hello to your friend.”

“It’s hugging your sister.”

“It’s anger followed by laughter.”

It’s anger followed by laughter.

Before, I walked my street,

Watching parallel lines

Meet on the horizon.

Until Grandpa’s road crossed,

Exploding my lane

Into a four-way stop.

A prism of possibilities.

A busy intersection.

New pathways emerge,

New ways of being and thinking,

Every time my beliefs are challenged.

A new direction,

never too small nor large,

To admire the change.

Others’ perspectives

Slash through my straight path.

A thrilling end to a uniform walk.

I love busy intersections.