Looking for a Rest Area - Stephen Dunn
Looking for a Rest Area
I've been driving for hours, it seems like all my life. The wheel has become familiar, I turn it every so often to avoid the end of my life, but I'm never sure it doesn't turn me by its roundness, as women have by the space inside them. What I'm looking for is a rest area, some place where the old valentine inside my shirt can stop contriving romances, where I can climb out of the thing that has taken me this far and stretch myself. It is dusk, Nebraska, the only bright lights in this entire state put their fists in my eyes as they pass me. Oh, how easily I can be dazzled— where is the sign that will free me, if only for moments, I keep asking. Stephen Dunn