the asphalt speeds by
long stretches of straight nothingness
broken by small town America
and I find myself
a little more in each passing mile
each breath of unfamiliar air fills my lungs
with a lightness I call
coming home
the rain starts as I cross the state line
washing away the dust and grime
of everything I left behind
on those back roads
in Texas
coming home [poem]
Larissa Lee 