I’m fifty miles south on 101 by Jason Fox

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trimmings from your shaved head itching my neck, when an egret swoops down low several cars ahead of me. Traffic is light but oppressive. The bird’s long legs probe the air over eight lanes of fast cars. “Don’t land here, bird!” I yell from inside my car. Your trimmings chafe my clavicle and I wish I’d had sharper clippers. It took so long to do your entire head even though the hair was already falling out in clumps. I ran my hand over each new clear patch, your broad back inches from my chest. The egret gains a few reassuring feet and I imagine it navigating back to the nearby wetlands, sinking its feet into cool wet mud. My phone lights up and a picture of your face fills the screen. It’s from a year ago. Your skin taut and tan instead of slack and pale; your cheeks full, not gaunt; your eyes saying love not sleep. Then the egret descends and circles toward the other side of the interstate. I crane my neck at eighty miles an hour to see if it’s safe, but I’m moving too fast and lose sight of it completely.

 

Jason Fox is one of many Jason Foxes. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in X-R-A-Y, Riggwelter Press, The Daily Drunk, and Autofocus Lit. He’s on Twitter @JJFoxBox

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One thought on “I’m fifty miles south on 101 by Jason Fox”

  1. Mark Upshaw says:

    It’s a rich transparency (photo slide) of a moment of reflection brought to the current moment of observation. Perhaps each stimulating the other. It inspires wonderment. It is also prose poetry to me. I love it! I love what you do with time as well. All for now…MU

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