we
were young and on the
way home from Joliet and from family gatherings (in the
white cushioned chair, high backed and gold leafed, up on the carpet like a dry riverbed, I had slapped my aunt for eating my Christmas present candy), the moon
would follow us. Peering out of the Caravan
window, I
watch it stay even
with us on the highway because, it too,
was going
where
we
were.
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