In West Virginia

posted Sep 14, 2010

Each morning was a fresh, blue breakdown.
I perfected my skills of isolation among those hills,
the splash back of creeks and muddied snow drifts.
I had enough money, but not enough money. I learned
the word “holler” and made friends with a boy who was born into one,
his pin-cushion eyes haunted by whatever took longer than it should,
which was everything. On the worst nights, he drove alone
on the back roads, ashing cigarettes into an empty can,
swerving back and forth to avoid the whitetails and turtles.
I made difficult choices. We kept in touch.

Maggie Glover is originally from Pittsburgh. Her work has appeared in Verse Daily, MAYDAY, Smartish Pace, The Journal, 32 Poems, Connotation Press, and other literary journals. She lives in San Francisco.