Title: if i keep driving
This piece comes from a poem I wrote about leaving a man I almost married years ago. We'd bought a house together, I had the diamond ring, we were on that track.
Mid-stride, I realized it was all wrong. And I left. Not in a mean way. He was a lovely person, a great friend. Just not the person I needed to be marrying. So, I packed up everything that would fit in my car, left what didn't, and started a cross country drive towards Pittsburgh (well, almost cross country).
The poem, If I keep driving, looks at those very last moments of leaving. Pulling out of the garage. Waving goodbye. Seeing the house in the rearview mirror. Seeing him standing in front of the house in the rearview mirror, waving.
It was the strangest sadness.
***
If I keep driving
our house will grow small
and eventually be gone.
If it suddenly begins to rain,
the distance between you
and your reflection in the
rearview mirror will seem shorter.
If I keep driving,
you will walk back
through the front door
after some time, a long time,
your arms folded over your chest,
and eventually you will be gone, too.
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