Anna Crandall
Thirty Minute Commute
The clouds stretch like taffy across the sky as twilight drops its heavy bathrobe
and slips over the cool pooling crest of the earth.
A thesaurus can tell you other words for what you want to say
but it cannot tell you what is right when you don't know what to say.
A plastic bag blown across the highway at 6:56 AM looks like the body of a little bird.
Life is smaller and quicker than we think.
It feels like it will last forever when it's the middle of the night,
your mind solving riddles in the dark
with the shutting of your eyes
you wake into another day
where everything is the same.
Bio
Anna Crandall (she/her) is a writer living in Portland, Oregon. She has previously taught in Oregon's Department of Corrections and is currently a high school Language Arts teacher. Outside of her day job, she enjoys being outdoors, moving her body, and reading voraciously. You can find her on Instagram @fingercommittee.