The Way Down


 

 

The Way Down

We break up at the top of Cadillac Mountain 
while the summit disappears behind a lead nor'easter.
We stumble down apart, the rank carpet of pine
cracks 
and smells like his musty Chevelle, sixteen,
kissing, 
air freshener swaying to Led Zeppelin IV. 
At the bottom the bedrock kicks us out, 
mouths full of grit, the salt air
wicks 
our wool tongues.

– Teresa Kiplinger 

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