I am alone
in this country.
I know what it means
to lie beside a highway
on a rolled up pair of jeans
and watch my suitcase
rattle as the cars pass by.
instead of pulling over
in a maroon Buick,
you appeared between
the wheat.
you asked if I wanted
to go home. you put
one hand under my chin
and brought my teeth
so close to your lips.
I couldn’t begin
to look at you.
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