She stands in the local grocery aisle,
Harsh fluorescent lights reflecting her own words back to her
From a magazine that she holds in her hands.
The article praises crazy, wild girls like herself,
Adrenaline junkies with long braids.
When I light my evening cigarette she breaks the silence that has followed us home.
“That smell makes me think of highways heading north, dirty shirts,
Breaking down on the side of the road and riding the pickup horses into town.
Makes me think of taped fingers, coffee sloshing in a cardboard cup, rock and roll music…
Just bronc rides.”
She looks at me and we smile-
She knows I understand.
xo xo Liz