By Megan Siebert

One more mile.

phump

Treading gravity’s concrete end,

my feet

sounding down the distance to home…

phump

            house.

phump

            How many more remain?

phump

            Sometimes so few

phump

            thoughtsfitbetweenthe

phumps

            But when it rains and you are blustered back:

The rain fits into my palm as your fingers once. The wind sweeps hair from my face; thunder elicits chills, and I can’t forbid your silhouette from surfacing on the

center of my eyelids when I blink against the fierce piercing rain even though

all I ask is to step outside without being on a world that looks like you.

phump

Sometimes though

                        …

                                    …

                        …

            …

phump

One more mile (memento).