One Sunburned Arm

by Brent Goodman

Whole day traveling due north, passenger seat empty, driver's window down, elbow out, spring sun warming my face. This wide switchback river I cross and cross again throughout the hours cannot make peace with the path I have chosen. When I arrive in my reinvented life, who will recognize this journey sun-mapped across my freckled forearm? There is a distance in these fingers my left hand considers, though when I reach out in welcome or fear, another hand always extends to greet my own. Old meandering river: how many times must I cross you? I've grown sick of myself the pale arm finally sighs – asleep the whole way home, only now awakening.

6S

Brent Goodman is a professional writer trying to live more creatively in a town where bowling alley country karaoke is culture and a single deer can gridlock traffic on the main road through town.