Franny Choi

8/30: Drive to Quinebaug Valley

Posted by on Apr 08 2013, in Uncategorized

Backseat. Shoulder to shoulder. Seatbelts
wedged deep in hips. Honey on my left,
trusted friend on my right. (Who called
middle the bitch seat?) Birches whipping
past. Sudden breaks in trees: lakes. Now:
the Scituate Reservoir, no longer myth.
Blessed is the real, this hot meal my love
heated for me. Blessed are the insides of
his wrists, which sneak into conversation.
Urgent philosophy in the front seat; here,
only laughter & marveling, the sunlight
skipping across our foreheads. Train car
diners. Roadside antique bazaar. Strange
landscape to our small-city leers. Familiar
shapes– ears and nose that find their way
between jokes. Here, too, a burrowing
place. Soft caves in the cushions. Safer
than plastic buckles or sudden sacks of
air. Safer is this: this heartbeat beside
mine, the ever-rhythm of live, live, live.

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