Nevada Haibun

In the early afternoon the world is rushing past my windows at 81 miles per hour. Mountains slowly edge their way along the racing grasslands. Nevada lends itself to longing, the cattle swinging their heads up to mark my departure though they never noticed my entrance.

“Technology,” my grandfather’s voice pieces out, “is incredible, lettin’ me talk to you way-“ out in the scrubland, across the country, speeding down a two-lane highway edged with nowhere. The cell towers are weak despite his accolades.

“You’re always on the move, a-“cross states, adding miles, a”-ren’t you?” No, Papa, I am always standing still, it’s just that the road moves too quickly for me to keep up. No, Papa, I am always reaching out to find home, and why won’t it ever stay put? These skies lean down to envelop me, and I must run just to stay on the ground.

The cows have caught my eye for too long. The static stalls us out.

“I think I’d better let you-“

down easy, in on

a little secret,

out of this cage, for I

know, you must

“-go.”