Driving to Adrianne Lenker (Andrew Byrds)

Warming my cold fingers in the ditches 

of your knuckles grinning that I’m not 

among the dead. 

Music plays, cars pass, the asphalt hums. 

The # on the dash reads 45°f.

Later on we’ll watch Halloween., I’ll thumb out the doubt, 

and tell you about being blind in the cedars, 

fairground haunted houses, 

that fairy well I found back in Iowa, 

what parts to look away from. 

45°f, the sun yawns, 



I promised 

when the frost kissed the horse tail, 

when I could trace 

cartoon ducks into the ice-skin of windshields, 

when the leaves changed and the sky turned 

itself inside out, 

I’d remain and try again.

You’re looking at me, I’m looking back. 


Andrew Byrds is a queer writer who spends their time disassociating and looking at dogs. They’ve had works appear in HobartPhilosophical IdiotEntropyMaudlin HouseTiny Spoon, and tl;dr magazine.


image: MM Kaufman