Following white lines and memories

under a black velvet sky,

my mouth raw from muscadines

and what I didn’t say

on her front porch

that summer night

so long ago,

but would like to say now.  

It’s seven miles to her house,

but the kids inside aren’t mine,

so I guess the wisest thing to do

would be to keep driving,

let the odometer remind me

all the way home

that distance is the only gift

she needs from me.      


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