July 22: Washington State.
(10:30 pm)
Having now
crossed this country,
Massachusetts to Washington,
exchanged sea for desert and back again.
exchanged sea for desert and back again.
Today we fell apart.
Two hours became six,
all of us wanting
to fall asleep in the backseat,
Two hours became six,
all of us wanting
to fall asleep in the backseat,
to be awoken
when it was all over,
prying sticky fingers from our seatbelts
washing our hands before falling
into bed.
When—
really, when?
When does memory become nostalgia?
When does memory become nostalgia?
When is the relief
that a child fastens her own shoes
replaced with longing
for the time everything
could be
so easily repaired
with an absently offered breast.
so easily repaired
with an absently offered breast.
When does that happen, when—
when does it become
that sweet-sour ache
bittersweet familiarity of how
bittersweet familiarity of how
it will never be again.
When
July 17, 2013: Montana, Route 90
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