(poetry journal)
The sign said, 28 miles to Kingston.
We had not intended to come this far north, taking a trek along River Road that turned into 9W, following signs that said, “Bear Mountain.”
Only when we got there, we kept going, this long and winding thing, and then, we stopped at the sign saying “28 miles” because we had never intended to go there, not yet, not since I took my daughter there before COVID, seeking a bit of the East Village she could no longer find in NYC, we stopped and wet back, leaving the sign and its destination behind, for another time, for our annual overnight stay when we were better prepared to deal with the consequences, 28 miles turning into 30, then more as we made our way home.
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