Idaho – A Poem

Idaho

Her eye was a cigar
and Daniel and I had
a plan to canoe
through her hair

She held me with
sourdough arms
always rising and
thick with a scent
that’s dead like beer

She always heard ghosts
by campfires and would
drink whiskey from her
jigger and laughter broke
glass like starlight

She said “don’t you
dare learn to love me”
and I never did

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