You leave in the car to drive back to the inn,
because you are the old, the parents, the ones who have had your beginnings.
You watch them as you pull away, C., L., B., and R.:
Fiction, History, Film, Poetry; gay, straight, straight, gay;
one tried pills, one jumped from a fourth floor roof,
one had to stop drinking by 16, one just watched his father
make a wife out of a mistress. They are hardly un- lacerated, these young ones,
but, at this sundown, their backs are so healthy, their laughter so visible, their legs
so sure as they walk towards the party in the building near the foot of the mountain.
Beth Bateman Newborg is a senior lecturer in English and engineering communications at the University of Pittsburgh. Her work has appeared in various literary journals and her poetry has won several awards, most recently from The Baltimore Review and the National League of American Pen Women. She lives in Edgewood. First Published June 8, 2013 12:00 AM