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Poetry / Hannah Anderson

‘Pit Stop Epiphany’ &

Issue 3. January 15, 2022



Rest stop


Hundreds of miles back

Trap house rap

Blasts from all four doors

Of the ash grey Camry

I snap two Polaroids

I snap two Polaroids of the same brown cow

She stares at me the second time

Rest stop restroom

Out of hand soap

Hand sanitizer works fine

A truck stop rests behind everything

Tired drivers pacing

It’s golden hour

It’s golden hour and the Polaroids are tucked in my

Sherpa jacket

Slowly developing

Much like my rootlessness is turning

Into a home of its own.






My heart is a mile marker

A highway high five

An overgrown rest area

My heart is a Love’s truck stop

A $3.99 bag of hot Cheetos

A Little Trees car freshener swinging on a rearview

My heart is a ripped tire shred on the highway shoulder

A double white line

A snow warped city limits sign

My heart is a soggy cigarette filter in a sidewalk gutter

A Peterbilt with 100,000 miles on it

A cracked drug store mirror

My heart is a speeding ticket stashed in a glove box

An hour long drive thru line at midnight

A red gas pump wrapped in a plastic bag

My heart is a tar spill on blacktop

A dripping motel ac

A complimentary breakfast

My heart is an outlaw country playlist

A muddy pair of Brahma boots tucked in between a pickup truck

A winning scratch off in a fold up wallet


And it will never be yours.





Hannah Anderson is a writer/poet based in Houston, Texas. In 2012, she studied English/Creative Writing at the University of Texas at Austin. Her work seeks to bring readers behind her eyes as she provides a diaristic, conversational, and dreamy dialogue about the rawness of life’s fleeting experiences, dreams, and moments that live inside memories. In 2015, three of her poems were featured in the Analecta Literary and Arts Journal, and she was also featured as a reader and intern for Bat City Review.

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