the flypaper motel she was six, maybe seven unbuckled, back seat of the Catalina John Coltrane on the radio the first time that she passed it the Flypaper Motel words suspended like motes Mother’s eyes averted Father's look lingering long as it receded to nothing in the rear-view mirror a speck on dry horizon the Flypaper Motel and there it remained an insect caught in the web of memory no co-ordinates, unmapped until she ran away from home at sixteen, maybe seventeen the year her mother died hitched a ride, nail polish chipped, mascara smudged army surplus bag slung destination inconsequential raining hard, hair wet, cold on bare shoulder as she climbed into the cab of the hauler bulldog on the hood, Desperado on the radio as the driver clasped a calloused paw upon her knee told her he needed to pull over get some sleep didn't look at her at all she lay awake, eyes open slime between her thighs in the blinking neon light she’d paid her way that night though she didn't have a dime the Flypaper Motel she's back there now, I‘ve heard 26, 27? grabbed her kid threw the hamster in its cage into the back of the rusty Monarch didn't leave a note, just hit the open road windows down, Sheryl Crow on the radio she'd look for a job waitressing or hairdressing or something; change her name whatever it took to get beyond the range of his long arm his sharp words, his stinging hand start over at this deserted place on a road nobody took anymore this unknown road going nowhere but the Flypaper Motel
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a pearl in this diamond world … Josephine LoRe has published two collections: ‘Unity’ and the Calgary Herald Bestseller ‘The Cowichan Series’. Her words have been read on stage, put to music, danced to, and integrated into visual art. They appear in anthologies and literary journals across nine countries. https://www.josephinelorepoet.com/