A Poem

Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash

When I am 17 my best friend and I
are driving down a rural highway
and nothing can reach us on the radio
all around us are fields and trees and static
even the rare house looks empty
though someone must live there
and she says
this is like the setting of a horror movie
this is the kind of place people get murdered
We wait for something to cut through the static
We wait for the music to play again



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Grace Moore

Learning to do this writer thing and sharing as I go. Poetry, CNF, mental health, and too many other interests. Support: