we are done writing
for this summer
our words
trickled out in cautious hope
as she wove the squirrels into our story
and he stood, refusing to let another person leave.
I traced the interstate with two fingers
in the misty glass, and
again in the small oval that was my window
three planes later
I’m rolling down a mountain on my hands and
knees
a small red dot waits on my screen.
sleep well, banana.
by Kekelime