Tailgate

A subtitle is not
subtext is not
the answer

to any question. A name
emerges from an ash
pile, a bundle

of freshly snapped
branches, a line
from a song

her mother loved. What she loves
to hum in the back
seat of an old wood-paneled

station wagon has no
title, no hidden
meaning. Just a mix of raw

notes and floating
words only a young
imagination could concoct.

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