Poem: Rock Festival 1991
Written June 9, 2017
We are leaving the rock festival in Tsawwassen.
The sun has almost left completely.
We head in the direction of the ferry terminal.
But we aren’t going there.
I smell warm dirt, warm grass, unwashed pavement through
the open car windows.
We are listening to James Taylor, Sweet Baby James
from a CD.
Dusty, unwashed and seeking the coolness of floor and light switches.
Wishing for surfaces that weren’t grass.
We listen in the dark car.
My friend say she craves leaning over a running faucet as if to brush her
teeth and filling her mouth with the coldest water.
I stood at the festival earlier, in the heat and my friend said
‘you should have worn a hat in this weather’.
I shrugged and agreed. Yeah, I know.
I had other things on my mind.
The music from the stage traveled over my head.
Wafted towards the fields behind us where the plant nurseries were.
The drum beat saddened me though.
Because it finished, and was no more.
That feeling of being 22.
The music is too loud to have big thoughts I can pay attention to.
But it’s only the one time you are here.
You sink into sleep, sunburn settling in and tired legged,
ears still booming.You hope it could never really be true.
by Wendy Stewart