Ten Cadillacs

Kathryn Jones

June 23, 2024

Every time I drive west of Amarillo

where the Mother Road, Route 66, used to run,

they pull me to exit off the busy interstate,

make the pilgrimage to a dusty patch of land, 

a ranch with no cattle but a herd –

ten painted Cadillacs, halfway in the ground.

They face west in a line, angled so their tail fins

point to the sky, paint peeling in the sun, 

wheels stripped of tires, metal rusting,

decaying but defiant. To some they are junk, 

to others art. To me they are cairns on a trail,

pointing the way so I will not get lost. 

I get back on the road, point my car west, 

Cadillacs fading in my rearview mirror,

their journeys over but mine just beginning, 

heading not toward a destination, 

distracted by roadside attractions, but still 

searching for wonder, a journey with no end.

Kathryn Jones is a poet, journalist, and essayist whose work has been published in The New York Times, Texas Monthly, Texas Highways, and the Texas Observer. Her poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies, including TexasPoetryAssignment.com, Unknotting the Line: The Poetry in Prose (Dos Gatos Press, 2023), Lone Star Poetry (Kallisto Gaia Press, 2023), and in her chapbook, An Orchid’s Guide to Life, published by Finishing Line Press. She was inducted into the Texas Institute of Letters in 2016 and lives on a ranch near Glen Rose, Texas.