Sonja Johanson

East will take me back. I drive west. I wend between snowbanks, until the road delivers me to a sleeping boat launch. They stand on the frozen ramp; watch me with coats that are better than mine. Ice houses and snowmobiles edge the distance. I have to turn around, I say to them,I went the wrong way. They stamp and chuff. No, they tell me,this is the way.