The Ecstasy of Gold

1964, ( somewhere on Route 66,
New Mexico, enroute to New Jersey )

I dreamt of elongated aisles aligned with molded  
silver and a nut-wrapped sticky something  
that wasn't leftover chicken or deviled eggs  
 
with pickles and paprika. I was just a little girl  
neonatal, like dough left to rise in warm glass;  
an armadillo tongue curling up the inside  
 
of my mouth and a continual loop transmitting,  
"Desert sand, endless...a foreign and barren  
tumbleweed mulling away distance." But it  
 
was just my mother broadcasting, "Breakfast  
time kiddies, orange and lemon poppy-seed  
muffins so wake this instance!" Her voice flooded  
 
the dormant backseat with Route 66 daybreak.  
Siblings sauntered for juice under fluorescent  
bulbs of Stuckey's where silver collector spoons  
 
and pecan nut logs filled with creamed nougat lolled  
in displays.  All I had to my name was scarcely  
a dollar of change in my wadded pocket of jeans.  
 
Listen, I learned this while I chewed: "Happy  
are those who dream dreams and are willing  
to pay the price to make them come true."  
~