before GPS

i folded the map into a bird
& asked it where we should be going.
night was no longer as issue 
seeing as we'd taken the daylight pills.
we just wanted an arrival.
you toyed with the radio 
inside your own mouth & 
i put my feet up on the dashboard.
no one held the steering wheel,
it just pizza-ed back & forth as
the road accordioned then thinned
to the width of a thumb. 
my grandmother's car smelled 
like burnt hair & rosaries. we held 
our breath. we stole everything, 
including our teeth. 
we didn't deserve 
the welcoming trees.
they rained flowers on us
as if we'd just been married.
had we? had we just 
been married? i can't remember. 
i am prone to lying about
both important & unimportant details. 
this was the time before GPS
so there was no device to ask 
how or what we needed. rolled down
the window to fish the air 
for flavor. did i craved 
a chapel or two? did you hunger
for a gas station? braided 
sun beams to use as belts.
we backseat-broke our jaws 
using them as sickles. 
i asked you, "can we 
go home now" & you laughed 
until you turned into 
a cluster of bubbles. i was
traveling with no one then
or possibly all along. 
it is terrifying to realize 
you are the driver & ahead 
is a decision. turn signals
arrived like clucking birds.
i asked the map 
what the name of the mountain was
& she shrugged. i was not
going home, was i? 
longer & longer, the road ran out
of things to say so we both
just stared at each other.
i parked on the side
of a whirling highway
where the sky handed out
personalized stars. 
i held out my hands 
& cupped the spool of light.
it sang of jupiter sunsets 
& a fireplace large enough
to eat us all. with it, i slept
in the lilting backseat.
fell asleep to headlight
then taillight
headlight then tailight. 

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