4am

I drive when I can’t sleep. I didn’t do that

before. If I could I’d cry

out with the coyotes that camp

the hills behind my parent’s house.

Wind caresses my neck

when the windows are down. Fog sits

in the canyon like a garden and

I’m buried in it and it’s beautiful.

Always 4am.

Sometimes I sit alone in the dark,

dreaming of our flowers

that didn’t bloom. There’s always

something to be weary of these days:

the fog, the coyotes,

my stupid red heart.

Sometimes all we want to be is aimless.

Sometimes all we want to be is wanted.

Sometimes all we want is both.

-JC

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About this poem

As the poem suggests, I take a lot of late-night drives. And during those drives, I often listen to a playlist that I made called 4am. It’s filled to the brim with super sad, super feel-y songs that put me in a very melancholic mood. I’ve found that my mind so easily slips into an introspective, reflective place while listening. Past experiences, past relationships. It’s almost like a mental reset for me. There’s a canyon that’s pitch-black and backlit by light pollution that I sometimes drive through, and it’s that place and this feeling that inspired me to write this.