peach pit pulled

her heart felt like a peach pit pulled from sticky flesh, she remembered

the blue-ridged roads curved ever-upward then suddenly down

the scent of wisteria within the car, her own eyes paused in the mirror


politely purple rested 'round her daughter's curls: a crown; outside still seagulled in her mind

in the trunk: two boxes of books buried deep inside, grandma's good-luck croc pot, grandpa's gun,

suitcases filled, stuffed with seashells and skirts, and


eliza's  houndstooth coat. no notes he wrote- there were none she collected and none she left.


gladly she drove through these evergreen groves to rest lone in the cabin;

it would hold them close, drive away the time 'til the day she'd awake without crying


she held the girl in her arms, charmed by her laugh

kneaded the bread like she needed, like she needed no one except who she kept


she wept where they played while her daughter lay splayed asleep 'pon the couch;

they had gotten out of one place, prayed about a new route


found in turn: the love of the land, the mountains marbled bumps more a way to understand

what she had gained when she thought all was lost

what he remembered while she forgot