Hope, New Jersey

by Christiana Martin

We are dressed in black,
en route to commemorate
a premature sunset.
The woods are filled with
orange, red, and yellow leaves;
a fiery shroud enveloping the trees.
I crane my neck, trying to find a sign.
A creek.
A bridge.
Anything to show us where to drive

Where do you go
when the candle gets snuffed

We cross the bridge into New Jersey.
I have never been to New Jersey before.
We pass a toy shop facing the town square—
we’ve driven into a Hallmark movie.
“Where are we?” I ask you;
you have the GPS.
I still search for a sign.

We turn right past
a post office.

There it is, in big blue letters:

We are not there yet,
but still we drive on.

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