CHLOE HONUM
Birthday at a Motel 6 The summer rain takes one last sweep through the leaves. Sunlight shimmers on the stones below. In the parking lot, two girls smoke as they stroll, following the gray scrolls of their breath. Some of the doors are open to dim rectangular scenes as intricate as tarot cards—Lovers and Fools and High Priestesses. Above them the wind carries petals over dusk's border. Sparrows hunt for their inheritance in the trampled grass— and my question endures another year, lit by tiny stars striking out across Arkansas. How will I live without her?
60 | Raleigh Review
