RECEDE

 

The taxi driver at 4am to the airport says, ‘You reek of alcohol,’ and holds out a
tin of cinnamon Altoids. I say, ‘Did you see the eclipse tonight?’ He ignores me
and holds the tin closer to my face. ‘They’re not going to let you on the plane
like that.’ They do. I wake up with a feeling like I’ve been snoring and also
sleeping with my eyes open. There is a lot of flight left. I have time to wonder
how toll booth operators go to the bathroom and why tissue boxes don’t have
pictures of people crying on the fronts of them. A river moves outside the
window like a thin sap. I feel my heart beating, my blood also     a thin sap.