on the first morning of the
summer, we swept every floor
while dust pried our eyelids
open and we tried to squint against the
pressure, sorry for agitating you, sorry
but I have to whisk you away,
I can’t let the children
choke on your particles, I can’t
let that happen, I’m sorry
and then that first night speeding
down county highway M
we found ourselves squinting again with our
heads leaning out the windows and our hair
whipping around our faces,
the wind rushing past, and
our seatbelts nearly bruised our chests
every time the breaks were slammed
all too quickly I developed a fear of being sent away
from the place I had been sent away to,
it was some sort of paradox where
I couldn’t keep my eyes fully open no matter
how often something tried
to show me everything there was to see