Where we’ve been by Holly Day

we rolled the windows
up against the rain
and my father said
“I wonder what that
rat-bastard husband
of yours is doing
right now” and I just
looked out through the glass
and said nothing, watched
countryside slide past
in varying shades
of green. behind me
the tired baby cried
in his car seat, tired
of being strapped in
for six hours straight and
I wanted to cry
but I don’t do that.
outside the car, corn
unfolded under
the onslaught of rain
sparse trees danced in waves
of rippling light
and everything I
was going to be
faded into black
far, far behind us.

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