Barely eighteen.

Overflowing my sedan with the essentials.

The belongings I prize most.

The ones reminiscent, symbolic of home.

The certain warmth and scents I never want to strip myself of.

Little bird leaves the nest.

Clear eyes full of wonder, lifted head full of ideas.

I was never meant to stay in one place.

My parents understood my spirit.

Understood the vulnerability.

Waving in my rearview mirror.

Waving me to turn around.

Mother slipping a bubblegum pink compartment

Into closed palms. Rhinestones on the rim.

Lipstick looking container.

Embarrassed, I flushed.

Assured her she was overstretching.

I’ll be fine, I’m fine.

I cooed. Hiding the anxiousness

Of possessing something so capable.

Only eventually I realized

Doe, a deer, a female deer

Is hunted in the woods.

Eyes low. Moving swift.

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