The trucker cawed 
‍ ‍I’ll miss ya. 
A persimmon 

gibbous sank 
an hour after he left, 
I could feel him 

cooling inside 
me, a thrill
I risked, his arms 

I imagined around 
other men, lifting
me from the cab floor 

like protection. 
Like history 
I knew the dangers, 

the lessons, other 
fissures, unseen 
bruises, my future. 

Did he say miss? 

I said yes, but God 
wasn’t looking for me. 
The future wasn’t mine.