What I Want The Poem To Do

In the poem,
I want to talk about how blue the sky was
in the middle of the desert
and the forged documents on the seat next to me
that would get me to my mother’s death bed
though the pandemic road blocks
and how quiet the car was
after I got the call that she’d died
and how the audio book stopped
and how haunted every rest stop and petrol station was
alone the way
and how every burger place with a playground
was on the other side of hell
with red striped tape across every slide
and every empty ball pit
and I was the only one
asking for coffee
and and a pie through a mist of hand sanitzer.

In the poem, I want to talk about what albums I decided to ruin
on the 8 hour drive home, knowing that whatever I listened to
I would never be able to listen to, ever again,
and how I had to come at writing about this, from the side.

In the poem, I float up with her
between the desert
and the blue sky
and the white clouds
and I get to hug her goodbye.

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