july 14 2024

sweat dripping down my clavicle in the front passenger seat of a toyota 4runner. we stop at a gas station on the highway, sun beaming down on the hood of the car. we’re in redneck country and i’ve got my feet up on the dash, playing shania twain and lady gaga off of my phone. there’s no one else around except the attendant and the sound of the great canadian forest. i decide to leave all my grief and my longing behind. i watch it skulk away, weaving between the trees, trailing roadkill in a zig-zag pattern. 

droplets pitter-patter down my neck, slithering into cleavage, in between my thighs. a spell breaks. a horn honks. it’s been almost 32 degrees all week. we drive away from the horizon.