We run in moonlight, your hand soft around my callouses, pixelated stars spotting a
cavernous, inky black sky.
The trains on our wedding dresses are soiled with mud, but you
squeeze my hand, as if to say we can’t stop now.
It’s because of you that I don’t glance back at the fading brick of my childhood, the
kitchen cramped with stale pretzel sticks and fleshy red grapes. The rooms where my mother
asked again and again why I couldn’t just love a nice man, her words settling in cobwebs and I
had to clear away.
But your footsteps are strong, and so are mine, echoing in the empty streets as my chest
fills with warmth, as I know, wherever I’m headed, it is with you.
Poem by Erin Jamieson
Image by Adam Strong
Erin Jamieson holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Miami University of Ohio. Her writing has been published in over eighty literary magazines, and her fiction has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Twitter: erin_simmer
Backwards Trajectory 