63,000

photo: Katie Copeland

A passing glance brought me to my odometer

Finding it upon the threshold of sixty-three thousand

There’s something fresh about seeing such a well rounded number.

How can a zero add so much, when really, zero is nothing?

As sixty-two nine-ninety-nine becomes stale with distance,

I found myself watching the panel like a television screen

The four years of dreams, agonies, and ambitions

Tick with each mile gone passed.

Without even heeding the road ahead,

I continued to stare,

For I know this road well.

Roughly forty thousand of these miles

Have committed this path to memory.

Seems a shame to put so many miles on such a small road,

When so many others are left un-traveled.

With no analog tenth-miles to give pace,

The digital display leaves me anxious....

When will it turn, when will I turn?

As the numbers transform instantly before me,

I enjoy the aesthetics and even-ness,

Of the number 63,000

Feels like a new beginning, a new start....

I return my eyes to the road,

Already knowing my position upon it.

I hope the next sixty-three are enough

To get me out of this ten mile town.