driving down pitch black highways
of rural north carolina is
a rite of passage.

no brake lights ahead,
no headlights behind,
just you in a metal death trap.

watching for deer just as it starts to
drizzle.
you hope it stays that,

but it’s hopeless to wish for less,
in a hot
north carolina summer.

laden down with useless
carry-ons, the car is
sluggish in its climb to

55mph for the full trip.
you’ve never had a problem
with speeding,

it’s a good thing
you’re not starting now.
the serenity is never

bound to last.
soon the charming darkness
becomes a void

where everything it touches
is swallowed by
the black empty of the night,

if you so much as
turn off
the brights.

you see fallen branches
that resemble deer,
reflective signs that

trick you into believing
you’re finally not alone,
but it passes and the hope is gone.

travelling the dark, twisty,
highways of rural NC,
just as the skies open up.

Thirty miles to the only decent restaurant,
but thirty miles in pitch black midnight turns into thirty thousand.
Flickering street lamps line the deserted roads,
alluding to dangerous evils lurking in the shadows.

You travel this road at dusk and dawn every day,
and every day it looks slightly different.
Never too off, just a tree branch fallen,
or a new pothole, but tonight everything has changed.
The long and winding roads you once knew by heart
have twisted your short term memory to oblivion.

The memories you once had are now churning, mixing,
confusing themselves with the secrets of the universe,
unbeknownst to other icons of the cosmos.

Your childhood is now TV reruns,
playgrounds are scenes of sitcoms,
and grocers from the depths of remembrance have faded
into backgrounds of masterpieces.

You’ll never know the same road again,
but the stars trace a familiar path.
One that’s lit by flickering street lamps at pitch black midnight,
but each star relates to a measly pebble from the road you know too well.

The thirty thousand miles to the nearest decent restaurant now means nothing,
in terms of the universe.
Thirty thousand miles, travelled in seconds, making memories you’ll never remember.

Memories you’ll never remember
for an average plate of overly sweetened waffles.

i
s t u m b l e.
i thought i was on a steady path.

it’s rocky.

this hike was supposed to be
a green circle
not
a black diamond.

after the trail marker, they said.
once you hike the first eleven miles,
the last one’s a breeze, they said.
you just have to climb.

they lied.

the only breeze i feel is the breeze
that blows through my scrapes,
tussling the hair that has fallen
in my face,
become untethered from the
single
point of control in my life.

this hike may be a record player.
no wonder there’s always a
melody
playing in my head.
am i the needle?
do i determine if the song plays?

if i were the needle, i’d just follow the grooves.
where are the grooves?
any groove i find is a hole
in which i misplace my foot.
s t u m b l e.

a mile seems like eternity.
the fatigue from the first eleven
has caught up.
i’m slowing.

i’m
s l o w
i n
g.

i can’t finish the hike.
i can’t return the way i came.
is the only option to keep climbing?
to keep stumbling?
to keep missing the grooves
yet playing the same melody,
keeping
time
endlessly?

i can’t stop climbing.
i can’t let a song pass
before i get back up.
i can’t be a scratch in a record,
no one will allow me.
i can’t redo what
redo what
redo what
i’m saying until someone rights me again.

“that’s just how life goes.”
“you’re still young,
you have all the time in the world.”

do you even remember your hike?
you climbed a different mountain,
played a different tune.
mine has boulders, cliffs, ravines.
mine has vibrato, caesura, crescendos.
i was told it was an easy hike.

once it’s over,
it will seem like the greatest achievement
of my life.
to have survived the twelve miles
of a bunny slope façade.

i hope i get a scratch.
i need to redo what
redo what
redo what
redo what
i’ve been given until
i can get it right.

just one mile left.