THE ROAD TO BANFF

Victoria Bender

Midsummer in the Rockies, I leave

Glacier, heading towards Banff;

early rain reflects off pines as if

last night’s stars fell liquid.

I open the car window, inhale

an earthy dank.

One midnight, John and I awoke,

drove through starry dark.

As dawn touched Tahoe, we

made love on dew-cold ground,

pink, orange and muted blue

above.

Now, topping a small rise, I look

across an unexpected valley,

before me in a perfect arc,

a rainbow. Inside its colored dome

the forest hovers,

blending light with time.

A giant bus pulls in beside,

belching noise and people;

cameras click away. Except

one couple midway back

next to an open window. She half

rises, camera ready,

as she turns to him, “What d’ya think?

Ya wanna get out an’ see the rainbow?” 

He peers through the window which gives

a partial view. “Nah” he snorts,

“it’s nothin’, I’ve seen

rainbows before.” 

I’m heading to the ice fields,

one hundred twenty-five square miles

and depth sometimes 1000 feet;

formed when other life walked here

feeling the sun,

seeing the rainbow.