You’ll get on the road and forget all about me, she says,
start driving through the landscape, looking back, preoccupied with the heat
and the windows down and the cool air. You’ll forget all about the whites you
accidentally put in with a load of colors. You’ll drive through the farmland,
by the interstate, headed north, past the long river, toward the blue pines.
You’ll forget all about her. She’ll forget all about the rose. You’ll come back
some day on your way through those Pennsylvania mountains. You’ll say,
halfway there, coming to see you, I’ll be back, just a few more hours,
remember me like this forever.
A. Logan Hill is a poet and arts educator splitting his time between Harrisonburg and Richmond. He holds a BA in English from James Madison University, an MFA in Poetry from the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, and spent his formative years as a young professional male vocalist at The American Boychoir School.
Illustration by Paul Hostetler