Riding Shotgun at 2AM


United States
33° 22' 43.0644" N, 84° 53' 54.5208" W

We sat.

Silence thickening between us

like an easier way to forgive.

You sipped coffee the color of my skin

just to stay awake

and I mused over Baldwin.


I watched

the black, Southern landscapes melt

into each other like two lovers 

aching for a closeness that they 

might never find.


Breaking their backs just to touch

the other,

hand to hand,

rib to rib

wrist to wirst 

lip to lip

She is crying for him.

and he?

well –

he isn't listening very well

We speak through words

small enough,

shallow enough, 

few enough,

to fit on an index card 

and never touch the margins.

A sentence about the weather.

A word about the news.

A breath about school.

When did we become the two poles?

When did secrecy cloud our judgement 

and only allow the shallowest of expression 

to color us desperate?

So please–

let's break this moment.

Replace this silence.

Renew this luxury.

I am tired of writing to you.

The glue on this note is drying.

This pen is growing weary.

. . . "Hello"


This poem is about: 
My family
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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