by Samantha Malay
published in Quiddity: International Literary Journal and Public Radio Program
I drink coffee from a styrofoam cup
lift our bags into the trunk
pull a map from the glovebox.
It’s so early most of the truckers haven’t left yet.
I can see you in the motel office
and I can see the corner of an orange bedspread
on the floor of one room because the door is standing open
letting bright hazy light in.
A housekeeping cart is parked outside
and what was ours will soon belong to someone else.