My friend proposed to her girlfriend the same day I was driving cross country in silence,

the cab cologne of basil leaves fills the truck.

It’s the freshest air I’ve tasted,

now that I’m used to living in the city.

 

I am picturing the fresh basil leaves from her garden,

pressed against white sheets.

Shaped like a heart–

And how she said yes.

 

Love isn’t like the movies, it’s better.

Specific and imperfect.

The pang of admiration I felt seeing that post.

How she didn’t need roses or money to have love fill her life.

My inner monologue reading the words ‘bay-zil leaves’ in my southern accent.

 

I reminisce how the cats tried to eat each leaf of the plant next to me,

how you would pluck a few for meals, teeth marks and all.

Nurturing your plant babies with each pruning,

your green thumb keeping time with each pulse of syllables and how they sound when you say ‘ba-z-i-l-l’

and my worry of your approval when I say it my way.

 

The heat threatening my thought

with each bump,

I won’t hear your feet hit the hard wood each morning.

Each box in back,

a space you will no longer fill.

 

The tendrils lean into me while I push the pedal to the floor.

I continue east, knowing the sun will rise with you.