Reid@YWP

Take me to the Karakoram Road, I beg—

Where the mountains meet the rivers, 

Entwined with the pathways of cracked cement

Sam and Willa lay on their backs in the overgrown grass of his yard, her describing the shape of the clouds for him to paint as a picture in his head. 

The bus to the Bellingham Amtrak Train Station was long and grueling; nothing short of a suffocation chamber for its passengers that day. Crowded, overlapping voices.

It's late when I pull into this town. the square is lively as my car sputters stop feet away from vision.

its a party. the people of the town running around and around and around, with carrots potatoes tomatoes everything the town has

and they're all breathless 

telling me of the doctors who defied odds and 

the athletes who destroyed records and 

the CEOs and chefs and 

and what if, 

yes I think they're cool and 

does anybody else get that feeling deep in their chest, sharp like it's begging to come out but also soft as in fire soft, embers in a hole in the ground?