Intersection

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.