Friendly Freeway

by Ed Aust

I turned onto the wrong freeway today.
It was a friendly freeway.
Every driver in every car
waved as they passed
honking their horns and smiling.
Small children, faces pressed
against the windows, gestured wildly.
I did not recognize a single face
though they seemed to know me well.
A taxi driver in a yellow turban
motioned for me to exit.
I pulled over beside a field of golden barley.
I waited for him to come to my window.
He had but one leg, and walked with crutches.
Do you remember me? he exclaimed,
smiling broadly, eyes moist with tears.
I'm sorry, I said, I don't remember you at all.
I am Mansi, your son in law, he said.
I married your daughter.
I don't have a daughter, I said.
Your daughter Gloria, with the beautiful voice.
I'm sorry, I said, I don't remember a thing.
It's okay, he said. Remembering isn't everything.
He reached through my window and embraced me
then limped back to his car.
I returned to the highway that stretched on for miles
between foggy fields and crumbling barns
but without a farmhouse in sight
and no way to remember
from where I had come from
or where I was going.

---

Ed Aust is a poet from Oakland, California. His poems have been published in Algebra of Owls, Avocet, Coal City Review, California Quarterly, Marin Poetry Anthology, Reed, Stonecoast Review, The MacGuffin, and others. His poetry blends the surreal with the familiar, transforming everyday encounters into dreamlike meditations on memory, connection, and the passage of time. Instagram: @ed_aust_in_oakland