Out of Oregon


By Lee Finch

Your breath didn’t cloud in the cold. After you picked the music and crawled onto the car roof, the animals ran back into the woods. My cheeks pinked, bunny-eared cap useless in the cold. You unfurled beside me.

I would not look at your eyes. I didn’t want that kind of night. But you bizarred the air with sound, touched my hair, and began to braid, fingers and hair twisting. Your eyes drained the red from my cheeks, darkling, as a whippoorwill began to sing against the radio. I still can’t tell if I slept or if I was awake.

One thought on “Out of Oregon

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s