by Olivia Dudding Rodriguez
Should you find yourself alone driving to places where you're unlikely
to be found with your skin lit with salt, water, and the movement of air
from an open window,
I invite you to pull off if you see an animal.
If the water in your car is hot, put it on your hands instead.
If you can slow the desperation rhythms in your breathing, you might
find
that you can smell sage.
You might find that you can smell rain.
Should the rain find you, leave the window open.
If you feel the animal-cry climb its way to your lips again, open your
mouth,
but remember that the idea of regret, even if grief, is a trick -
we only know what we know.
There is no such thing as knowing better.
Originally published in Preposition: An Undercurrent Anthology (2021).
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