Oregon drove through me, 

green and thick,

a thousand flashes of God’s brown bark

stretching toward himself. 

The horses pushed their red bodies toward 

the fence where I watched. 

I am always watching for the horses 

while the road stretches out  

like a scroll that cannot be filled.  

Kate presses her foot against the gas,

and winces at the pain that shoots

through her lower back.  

Between the two of us, 

we are ache and empty of 

sleep. There is nothing to catch up to. 

Now, awake in a castle attic bedroom in Omaha, 

I arch my bare feet and curl my toes 

with my feet hanging off the edge of the bed.  

Missouri is the midday horizon 

pushing closer after coffee and eggs.  

I cannot take in what continues to drive through me.  

Dinah Washington sings the blues, 

the wood walls were rough once.

We take turns washing the road off

before leaving.  Iowa is in my hair.  

Missouri is the horizon.  




About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
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2 Responses to Drive.

  1. This is great. I love the short bursts of action. Small clips of time and motion captured and tacked together. Creates a great cadence. I especially love how “I arch my bare feet and curl my toes/ with my feet hanging off the edge of the bed. ” serves as a sort of pause in the middle. While you relax, we relax then its right back on the road.

    good stuff.

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