Three-quarters of the way to absolutely nowhere
another nameless gypsy-prodigal daughter finds herself
or loses her former self
at a quintessential dusty truck stop diner. Her waitress, Nell,
carries coffee like priceless jewels on a plastic tray.
Road weary she orders not out of need, but
out of knowledge that food is a necessity.
Everything tastes like dirt and decay, anyways;
and she has felt like death won the war with life
for miles. Watching shadows play on the deserted desert dunes
she manages a wispy smile at the setting sun of her past.
Uncontrollable tear stains are what she tips Nell,
though she thinks herself too solidly jaded for waterworks.
She reaches to touch Nell briefly before rising to leave, a thank you gesture—
And finds herself clutching to the warm palm of a stranger
the first form of human kindness she’s felt in years.
