Noe thinks all movements are a success, but he does not think all success requires movement. At least this is what he tells himself as he lies in bed next to another unnamed person. Noe is not the type of person who wants to desert after lovemaking, but he does not know if the animalistic sex he just had could be in any way considered lovemaking, so he crawls out of bed, grabs any clothes he sees near him, and childishly crawls out the door. He slips on flip-flops on the street, steps on dead cigarette butts, miscellaneous cartons, himself. He is not sure anymore if he wants to leave the bed, but he knows slipping into a hotel room is much harder than slipping out of one. He thinks of telling the person he's sorry, he got a call, could he come back in. But he and the other deserters he sees running from front doors, men and women alike, are all part of something Noe knows he cannot be excused from. He and the rest of the crawlers, the escape artists, the brand new old news, they're all in movement. They may not be what Noe thinks of as success, but they are in movement.
Jennie Frost is a Jewish, Appalachian poet from Maryville, TN. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Anomaly, Kudzu, Glass Mountain, Sink Hollow, Indicia, Mochila, and Political Punch, an anthology on the politics of identity from Sundress Publications. She is a three-time winner of the Curtis Owens prize and beginning in January, she will serve as the Writer in Residence at the Sundress Academy for the Arts.