Somewhere Outside of Ithaca, NY
by Rachel Patterson

The steering wheel hums as it slips
in and out of my palms,
vibrating, smooth.
Mile after mile, the road
stretches, a black cat creeping
in the crevice between two humped mountains.
Around me the naked trees
wear their powder hats,
and the last snow clings to yellow grass.

Everything touches everything,
the grayish mouth
of the sky, the brown hills,
the dead-colored ground,
the snow, the asphalt, even
me, a pink, breathing pearl
fused to this dark, purring shell
for hours, days it seems,
headed North.

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