Low on gas
she
Throws coat in back seat
Rolls down windows
Skips exit
It’s the first warm day of the year.
Drives slow,
Doesn’t care.
Drives fast,
Doesn’t care.
Doesn’t sing along,
Just listens,
Just drives…
drives…
Semi-trucks and
SUVs and
sports cars,
Any just driving?
She wonders.
Breathes deeply.
Twenty-three miles (one for each year)
And exit eighty-three
To nowhere.
Windy roads and
empty fields and
small-mountain hills.
Smells manure,
Doesn’t mind.
Feels familiar,
But different enough.
Deserted cemetery.
Pulls in
Drives the circle
Sees familiar last names
and crucifixes and flowers.
Sees a fat goat watching her,
chomping grass.
Feels no death
Feels sunlight
Feels good.
Low on gas
she
finds her own way home.
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