Hours Between Houses

Maps glare from my phone’s cold screen,

a blue thread stitching highways and back roads.

Seven hours, two gas stops,

coffee run, a sigh in the passenger seat.

Each mile a sliver of time

pulled away from me,

a slow unwinding of the day.

I pack memories between exit signs,

snippets of old dinners and tight hugs

folded in the spaces between.

The distance isn’t just miles—

it’s hours counting backwards,

a clock ticking soft in the car’s dull hum.