sleepover

by Eric Eich

It was the sleepover that would
never end, like when the two
edges of a map curl in on each other,
into a faded, infinite spiral. The sighs

of interstates and rivers from different states \
or continents, mating. The next morning,

I skipped church to watch you spin your
mother’s station wagon around the cul-de-sac.
I waited for the car to squeal and sputter,
for the uptaking of an invitation I accepted

long ago. I thought you’d never stop.