Memory

My father drove a white truck.

Or maybe that belonged to the neighbor.

I think I rode in the front once.

I rolled the window down
actually rolled it, the handle rotating in my hand,

when we drove to Kingston and listened to Tim McGraw.

On the windowsill in my mother’s kitchen,

the radio could pick up the Canadian station.

Maybe I only sat at the counter, waiting.

Natalli Amato is the assistant to the editor of Rolling Stone. Her first poetry collection, On a Windless Night, was published in 2019 by Ra Press. Her poetry has appeared in Darling Magazine, the Lily Review, and the Speckled Trout Review. In 2021, her work will appear in Blueline, Breaking Bread Magazine, and the Great Lakes Review. She lives in Sackets Harbor, New York.