The Loop

I went around the cul-de-sac three times

before I knew I was trapped.

The street sign read Oakwood Lane.

The houses looked the same.

The mailboxes, identical,

each one holding the same kind

of silence.

A child rode a tricycle in the center,

going around and around,

like this was what she was born to do,

like she understood something

I didn't.

Her toy sat in the middle of the loop,

blocking the perfect circle,

and I wanted to move it,

wanted to make the path complete,

but instead I kept driving,

kept turning,

kept seeing the same tree,

the same mailbox,

the same child's face

as she passed the same point

for the third time I was watching.

When I finally found the exit,

I didn't feel relieved.

I felt like I was abandoning her,

like that circle was still turning

without me,

like part of me was still trapped

in that loop,

still going around,

still unable to leave.