How Low, How Long, How Lonely

Until she figures out the next thing

It’s how long

It’s how long

Until she has enough

To fill her car up

And ride away

The two-inch lake

The figurative desert

The highway signs
And the always-bad weather

How long

How low

How lonely

She only knows

The answers

To some

No suitcases

No passports

Nothing left

To write home about

Or a home

To write it to

She grips the steering wheel

Like it’s a hand off a cliff

And tosses the last bit

Of her last cigarette

Out onto the road

The fragrant smell

Of late night road trippin’

Mixed with spotty radio

The tattoo on her arm

Is still covered with gauze

Her phone rings

It’s her mom

She turns the music up

The sun turns in

How low

How low did she need to go

To get to the spot

Where you’re wearing sunglasses

Just to scare people off

How long

How long ago should she have run

And what’s the cost

In waiting too long

How lonely

Did she never realize she was

Until one day the postman came

And she spent twenty minutes talking to him

About something she saw on the news

She’s got every question in the world

And not an answer in sight

The dog’s sleeping in the backseat

And the back left tire makes a sound

Like it might need air

She pulled back her hair

And made a bruise at her left temple

To see what it would look like

If she was a battered woman

The narrative’s already forming in her mind

Something to keep people a few feet back

Whatever has to happen

Then so be it

Her sister used to get beat up all the time

Before she finally took off

Too bad she didn’t leave

A guidebook behind

Her mother’s going to hate

Having two daughters on the road

But that’s all they knew growing up

So it’s too late to learn something new now

The dog stirs

The radio drops out

The road curves to the right

Then to the left

She sees a hill up ahead

With some lights behind it

In her mind

Somebody’s chasing her

Hunting her down

She speeds up a little

Thinking maybe there’s a cop somewhere

That she can’t hide

Hiding behind a bush
Or laying dormant

In the dark

She thinks of all the people

Who aren’t going to be looking for her

And wonders what the point is of running

If you don’t have anything

To run from

How low

How long

How lonely

That’s all she can think about

And how far

And how hard

And how she’ll know

When she’s been gone too long

And when it’s time

To come back