rental car is everything splendid borrowed? you let me read your Rita Dove books & i didn't write in them knowing i would have to return each cracked spine to your shelf. your room smelled like cactus candle & brushed teeth. the window laughed flecks of car tire alley way. do you miss what you took from me? i miss miss removing your shirts from the laundry bag before you got home. i would wear them like dresses & then place them back, fumbling to fold them as they came. last autumn when i was a made of different less vibrating molecules i rented the car i drove to my parent's house. grey rain spit water constellations on the wind sheild. the radio came in clear as a knife. i plugged my phone in & played Death Cab for Cutie's Plans from start to finish. i pretended the car was mine even though i only had four days with it. i forget why i even came home. the drive from New York to corn field Pennsylvania dwindled me to nothing but urges. i wanted to stand in the backyard. i wanted to walk the dog all the way over the waning moon. staring at the car in the gravel driveway, it looked terribly out of place. all shiny & white & fresh. the insides smelled translucent. the headlights cut holes in my father. i said i missed you when i didn't. i was only thinking about missing the car & missing this american gasoline freedom. in my parent's house, we wear couches down until their stomachs touch carpet. i do the same. let my shoes come to pieces. sand my heart down to a mirror. i took my brother on a ride around the block & i considered car dealerships. all their newness. i envied all steering wheels. you were at home toe-deep in your own private encyclopedias & maybe sitting by your window. i missed your ankles. i missed your closet. tragic ride home. goodbye beautiful life. the car key like a talisman. you can come in & out of love with someone several times just on the same highway. my life still fits in back seats of cars i don't own. turned the radio into a boy & let his voice lie to me. i gave back your books one by one without telling you. in the morning, i dropped the car off & walked home up Jericho Turnpike that dreary monday. car horns squawked like tired old birds.