a poem by Ethan Christopher
You lean into these curves
like we were going faster
down these one lane back-roads.
My dog, Moon, curled on some coats
beside me in the back.
My window cracked, cold, keen air
sweeps my hair, a breeze of
kisses like a natural
mother spreading aloe
on my sunburns.
We blaze on,
winding through twists and turns.
The road is out there. Trust me.