Mile Marker 170

A poem.

The mountains rise out of the earth
as I yawn from the passenger seat.
The snowy canvas is beautiful
but the inside of the car is cold.
Mile marker 86,
that’s when I told you of my uncertainty.
It’s been weighing on you
all the way to 110.
You open and close your mouth
multiple times.
Nothing has to change
you say at 117.
It’s hard for me to think
of subjecting you to this doubt.
It’d be uncountable.
No signage to denote
the 1/4s and 1/2s.
There is no ending point
on the map as such.
Mile marker 170,
that’s when I set you free.

Photo by Dan Gold on Unsplash

Blame

Follow me on Instagram.