» Poetry

Fantastic Voyage

My father’s silver Chevette pushes past refineries along the turnpike,
fields and farmland tucked back behind the Raritan River bridge.


I strain my neck to catch glimpses of skyline, growing larger
with each exit. I mouth exotic names on signs—Rahway, Weehawken.


We begin the long, slow, curving descent to the mouth of the tunnel,
an impatient caterpillar of cars with glowing red eyes, inching


towards a collective cocoon. At the entrance we pick up speed, my pulse
quickens in the half-light. Everything’s possible below the surface:


 The white-tiled walls are relics from an ancient civilization.
 The curve of the ceiling is the belly of a massive river-beast.
 We are passing through a half-world on the way to a new planet,
 the invisible NJ/NY line is a strobe-light stargate.


The road twists, slopes upward—leaning in, we slingshot forward,
there’s no turning back: the glow of the City is just around the bend.


The cocoon splits open and spits us all out: fresh butterflies, bright wings.
Drenched in golden light, the City’s an endless meadow to flit about.


We bury our faces in it, we drink its nectar.


Lupita Eyde-Tucker


Lupita Eyde-Tucker writes and translates poetry in English and Spanish, has studied poetry at Bread Loaf, is a Fellow at The Watering Hole, and was selected as a Spring 2018 AWP Writer to Writer Mentee. Her poems have recently appeared in Naugatuck River Review, Baltimore Review, SWWIM, Muse/ A Journal, Nashville Review, Small Orange, and Azahares. In 2017 she was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.