I miss that darkness,
even the stars hid. Behind us
the frozen beach, the sheer wall
of rock still killing drag racers
in shitbox Civics, eliding photos
from yearbooks. Litote voices.
Makeshift crosses the markers
of heres and theres
where drivers slipped hypnotized
into sleep and didn’t wake.
Hair like mine, lips I wanted
in an oval face, darkness,
uncloying scent of a girl
at seventeen terrified
of going home and me,
not driving my sister’s car.
Locked hands,
her little thumbs,
bring me back that darkness.
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