Defining Dulcie

I dug a pen out of the glove compartment and rested the postcards on my knee. I wanted to scratch a couple simple messages, one for my grandfather and one for my mom. I glanced at the scrappy Utah landscape that surrounded me, but I couldn't think of a thing to say. I looked up to the sky thinking maybe I could find some sign, some signal.

Instead, I found three huge turkey vultures circling overhead.

I patted the Chevy's bumper.

"Don't worry" I said. "you're not edible." The sun made my eyes water. I pretended like I wasn't crying. I turned back to the postcards and wrote a simple list of words:

Home run.
Home stretch.
Home town.
Home free.

It looked like a little poem. Not much rhyme, but I think I'm more of a free verse girl anyway.