Utah by Megan Waring

We stop at the only place with a food sign.
Drive into nothing. Green River.

See a diner.  Sit by the window.
Ask if that mud trickle is Green River.

Get back in the car. Stop at the edge of earth’s
baby tooth cavity.  Sore spot for sky to tongue.

The road stretches as far forward
as it does behind us.

Can’t tell if we are stitches.
Hemming the sky to the ground.

Hemming the before to the after.
Threaded with green river. Threaded with now.

Can’t shake the feeling if I spin fast enough
the world would settle around me differently.

I might end up upside down.
I might end up lost.
I might end.

As if gravity is the only thing holding it together these days.

 

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