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.
Haley Gilbertson 