Amanda Laughtland

Grade

Along both shoulders of Highway 95
thick piles of sand make ramps
for runaway trucks. Low clouds
hide the barricade and parking strip
at the top of Lewiston Hill, so we don’t

pull over: the sign that points us
to the Scenic Overlook seems to point
past the edge of a cliff. The drive down
Lewiston Grade is enough like falling
though our brakes don’t give out,

our car doesn’t sink into the Snake River.
In town, they think we’re sisters
or best friends. The fog makes us
look familiar, like their daughters
just-divorced and moving back home.

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