I made a list of things that could carry water:
clouds, a bottle, the swollen barrens of my body,
its odor like nickels clenched in a fist.
I felt the change in the air before I could name it.
First, the plastic bag and it's rustle, stolen
into my greedy pocket.
Then felt the tension slick around my throat like oil–
I made a plan–take what I could.
I could survive.
I could survive off so little.
Have a path planned.
Make your path as wide as the space
between you and anyone else in your life.
Fill it with intention. Each day
place a small, needful object away
for when you'll need it most:
money, of course, and
whatever you can carry
in the secret film of daylight.
Or bring nothing with you
but the clothes on your back
and your body–baby, just drive.
Shaun Turner is the author of The Lawless River (Red Bird Chapbooks) and recipient of an Emerging Artist Award from the Kentucky Arts Council. Shaun Turner serves as Fiction Editor for Stirring: A Literary Collection and co-editor at Fire Poetry Journal. His fiction, nonfiction, and poetry can be found in such literary journals as the Chattahoochee Review, Bayou Magazine, Still: The Journal and the Appalachian Review, where he won the Denny C. Plattner award in Fiction.