journey
​Lillian Aff

there’s tranquility in traversing a

great








expanse

where all there is is you

and the rattling
of your small, sentimental vehicle
you bought for two thousand dollars in July,
maybe a couple clinking coins,
some Oliver and Neruda, Stern and Dickinson too,
and your few insignificant effects, collections of
rocks and other shiny memorials

and all of you are traveling in a line
together with the past in the backseat
spending the clinking coins on cold drinks
to pass out to your objects in case they
sweat in the Bakersfield sun, a break from
motion

but there’s a place for emotional arrival
even if you’re not sure how to get there
at first you skip past it because the road twists
itself

another motivator

and another exit

prove I exist
​
instead of you