LAKE CHESDIN EKUZ

ELIZABETH FARSCHON

Lake Chesdin

I almost ran straight into a mailbox last night, the grey, textured steering wheel slipping from my hands. The name on the box, Denton, made me think of how one summer you took me to your family cabin in the mountains, trees bright green in the summer haze, and I forgot to pack socks. I remember the stench of my feet filling the dark bedroom, its hunting paintings and natural wood bedframe, where you first undressed me, and I remember you saying you couldn’t smell it, the same way you couldn’t hear me when I said I wanted to go home.