driving to the mountains, sixty miles per hour. the faster we go the farther they seem. maybe I’ll
find myself there. gritty rocks grate at the Cadillac tires. snow-capped views from Tulie.
 

at thirteen this drive felt so different, fifteen more than the speed limit. at the southernmost tip of
the Rockies, I’m terrified of being changed, but changing anyway. car keys rattle, scaring me.
 

holding onto what was, so hard it breaks under force. what I wouldn’t give to sit with you on that
cabin porch. new skin, new clothes, same bones. fresh lips, fresh words, same voice.
 

we change, but never enough to dig up the fossils and prove we are new. we keep going, though.
the speed limit never did change. we still go sixty, not forty, not eighty, we go sixty