IntersectionLaura Van Prooyen
Because I cannot call you, you do not exist. Because we once ate at Emilio’s I can’t drive by without looking. Today is hot. I remember you fighting a woman for the last fan on the shelf that July. You may very well be listening to crickets now. You may be rocking a child. I drive my children past the forest where we did not go. My skirt is not so short anymore. I stop at the red light where you did not kiss me, where we did not stop.
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