BREATHE AND SWALLOW

Dad and I,

Saturday to Sunday,

visiting Dickinson College.

Scared to be alone with him

in a car, trapped.

Wish I could

just apply to places, not have to see them,

try to get out of it, say

Chloe needs my help,

there’s a Yearbook deadline.

Nothing works.

Dad asks if I want to practice my driving,

I tell him no way.

I haven’t gotten behind the wheel

since failing my road test last year.

Turn on my Walkman,

wait for Manhattan to vanish

into the Pennsylvania hills.

Somewhere between here and there Dad asks

if I’m nervous.

A month ago, I would’ve been.

For a minute

I think about Columbia,

life before,

and something like a lozenge           gets stuck in my throat,

I try to

breathe

swallow

around it.

Wonder how forest and highway

can simultaneously exist,

wind the cords from my headphones

tight to tighter

around my wrists.