Unsent Letter #8

A Prose Poem by Anon ymous


Remember the night we stole your father’s car? The halo-glow of the porch light illuminated our crime. You slid across the long bench seat, told me to drive. Drive to nowhere; drive over the edge of the earth; watch the look on God’s face as we crack the horizon. I remember crickets singing louder the further we went; the hum of wind through wing windows. There was clean static from AM radio; your hand on mine. I wake, three four five times a night and you’re invisible; a shadow; a heart-shaped moth watching over me as I fall to sleep.



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