The Staying Awake

Brett Foster

Across the rolling hills of Interstate 70
on the final night of a winter evidently
behind us, we drive the hours of the next
yearned-for county. Yet this mission is destined
for only one. My heart is torn to accordian
folds, my mind becomes a weary vessel.
Our realizations cover the floor board.

And if only for your sake we could shape
all these feelings toward a gesture, enact
the terror at wondering what it was, exactly,
preceding tonight’s—the highway’s and our lives’ –
disclosures . . . Instead, the road ahead, impassive
signs to guide us. Passing rest stops and exits,
we discover it’s over. Driving. Giving up.

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