by: jordan truszkowski
over the years my mind crafted this belief:
that I must hold my breath where the roadkill lies
if you breathe in, you take some air and the last emotion the animal felt right before it died
sitting in the passengers seat
the brown corn field on the left
air flowing past the opened windows
I saw it there 40 feet afar
the deer’s eyes open, body twisting, breaking
not quite the same
holding my breath as we drove by
I saw it
as you breathed in
a smile crept up your lips,
a grin it became.
jordan’s journal 
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