I admit I’m enjoying loneliness.
You can’t understand that, like you can’t understand
why I point out the number 22. It’s not about luck.
When we parked next to a car from Kentucky
I couldn’t believe it. I know it’s only coincidence,
that strange occurrence we’ve given a strange name:
so unlike anything else I’ve said today. The highway
outside the window helps: to see so many cars coming
and going when I’m doing neither. Maybe some of them
are going to Kentucky. Not us. Come here. Lie beside me
in our borrowed bed. Don’t ask why I packed 6 books
but only 2 pairs of underwear, why I haven’t enough
clothes to last the week. Let’s enjoy the quiet
while we have it, drink bourbon till it’s gone.
I like that we’re making do, that you use the air conditioner
as a fridge for my unopened yogurt. Why was it today
when the cleaning lady came I opened the door expecting you,
smiling my best makeshift smile?
This is a reprint of work originally published in Fleshed.
Leigh Anne Hornfeldt, a Kentucky native, is the author of East Main Aviary, The Intimacy Archive, and Fleshed (forthcoming from Winged City Chapbooks, 2016). She is the editor at Two of Cups Press and a recipient of a grant from the Kentucky Foundation for Women. In 2013 her poem “Laika” placed 2nd in The Argos Prize competition and in 2012 she received the Kudzu Poetry Prize. Her work has appeared in journals such as Spry, Lunch Ticket, Foundling Review, and the Journal of Kentucky Studies.