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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Like Snakes on Hot Asphalt



 

My father’s horizon was always

Kansas, he never grew past being

a tiny spot surrounded by miles

of cattle-flattened silage

and stunted sagebrush.

 

I don’t know the names of any

of my inborn horizons, can only guess

at who lives in the row of dark houses

across the street. I am also an unnecessary pinpoint

surrounded by flat, black asphalt

waves of heat reflection off the crumbling tar.

 

I remember the road trips to ocean surf

the look on my father’s face as he realized

so many times that the world

was so much more than hot tar and dead cornfields.

“All you gotta do is get in your car and drive,” he’d marvel

a sudden world explorer, a world conqueror

wearing a grin big enough to smash giants.


                                                          -Holly Day