i see a white truck driving opposite me
they’re on the opposite side of the valley
i wonder who is driving.
i like to imagine it’s a father with a little girl strapped in
mostly because i want to imagine it’s me
in my fathers brown chevy
it smelled like cigarettes and spring.
i mostly hope it’s the same for that little girl
and her father.
i miss my father cranking the windows down,
he would pull over to do it
because neither of us could reach.
he would go to hell and back for me.
i love him and he loves me
so why can’t we say it out loud.
now i sit on the bus with an aching back
trapped inside windows that won’t open
and i look across the valley.