My tires bumped over the rough path,
each rut and swell imprinting themselves on my
car’s shocks in a way that only
Oklahoma dirt roads are capable of.
The tires stopped.
It was a clear night and
I could see the lights of Elk City
seven miles away.
You had shown me this with pride
as you leaned against the hood of
a black car I no longer have.
The luggage in my backseat
called out to me, commanding me
to leave this town, this place.
The red dirt glowed in my taillights,
bright clouds created by tires.
The dirt rose up for the first time in days,
quick to lay back down. Each particle
drifting apart and together,
making a new pattern.