Road-Seat Driver

​​Megan Caldwell

He was the yellow skipping
lines that led me home all those years.
Sometimes he bent when the road curved
and moved to fit the mountainside.
Other times, he was faded and worn, 
exhausted by the miles I'd run in desperation.
But he was always there,
following me stripe by stripe, beat by beat
like the heartbeat inside him I'd left behind.