One July at 2 a.m.

Speeding down the kudzu highway 
where Atlanta’s orange glow chokes 
stars, he forced the '82 stick- 
shift Toyota too close to its 
effective frequency. I thought 
the vibrations would shatter us.

He forgot the front-door key and had to climb 
through our bedroom window. 
Poison sumac grew on the wall. He attacked 
the tendrils with his serrated carbon steel 
commando pocket-knife. Our sheets, always musty, 
kept me awake as the fan click-clacked, 
and he again refused to hold or touch me.

First published in Residual Heat under my pseudonym Aga Black.