Flashback:
Coasting along I-75—
and I mean that literally.
Traffic congealed,
refusing momentum
Then—
a flat tire.
Just like that,
my plans collapse:
Centennial Park,
downtown Nashville,
a borrowed couch,
laughter that never arrives.
Instead—
the cold leather
of my Eclipse,
a makeshift shelter
from thunder that feels personal,
as if the sky has singled me out
for some small, unnamed offense.
Three hundred dollars,
a tow,
and I am moving again—
though the landscape
withholds itself:
fog thick as breath,
blurring everything I meant to see;
while somewhere beyond it:
water runs,
birds gather their voices—
a world continuing
just out of reach.
Inside the car,
the air turns—
roadkill, manure,
something sour enough
to sting the eyes.
I keep driving,
as though arrival itself
might offer redemption.
Expectation: miscalculated.
Next time,
I’ll choose the sky
TheJFiles 