1,000 mile trek. stretches of tawny sand. of swaying wheat. gilt. mcdonalds drive-thru. 5-minute stop. scalding coffee like chocolate ash. stretch stiff legs. shake off that bone chill ice. halfway to nowhere. halfway to somewhere. utah buttes glint sandy blond/e. step back 20 years. glass door portals. child’s past half-remembered. odor of french fry oil. low hiss of coca cola soft drinks. same brown tiles. same grime. ohio to iowa. they keep mopping but still the floor is slick. or sticky. more often both. rocky mountains are out there somewhere. but no. we’re stuck on $5 a day. rusted out subaru. white as milk. navy blue and fraying guts. kick hard enough on the floor. your heel kisses pavement at 70 mph. dad patched it best he could on factory budget. rusts through anyway. all that road salt. unchanged since fashion was orange like wet carrots. mustard like 70s smudge. hello can i take your order? yes please thank you goodbye. back on the road its anemic conversation. vampire of time drained out its luster back in boise. anyway. mark another hour in mental chalk. watch the st. louis arch glide by at midnight. private moonbeam. pearl arch. she sinks into dusk. snapshot memory. a flapping film reel where only a few frames burn.
it’s 2 am, do you know where home is?
Ethan Cunningham
Ethan Cunningham’s short works appear in print, on-screen, and on the stage. His most recent publications can be found in The Alembic, The Blotter, Terse, and elsewhere. When he’s not writing, he advocates for human and animal well-being. He is online at www.storysci.com.