Nineteen. I learn to read
the meaning of his hands:
the clenched fists, indented
wall, my near miss. His palm
flat, he jabs the air a foot
from my face. I am never
hit. My mind is far, bang,
straight to the moon.
In the quiet car, my face
untouched, erases.
I am new to this. I am
subdued. Now I know
what love is. We drive on,
the parkway lined with autumn’s
livid trees, the asphalt smooth.