Poetry

I am the reflector
on the highway
leading you away
from where you want to be.
My brothers and sisters
join hands along I-20.
Like constellations or biplanes
we spell out your fate
on gravel
baked by sun
and smiles you tossed us
from your rear view mirror.
Go ahead
turn the dial up two notches
or four.
Michele Norris and Robert Siegel consider
among things accidental glances
between passengers.
See the gum you tossed
when the taste of peppermint
disappeared from your tongue?
Your eyes
that could no longer follow
the mile makers
keeping time to the grooves
your tires tattooed across my back.
The reflection of a toddler
flinging goldfish and juice boxes
at the back of his mother’s head
whispering secrets
into the upholstery with colored crayons.
As you pass
take the time to read the notes
he leaves for you
in drool
expertly smeared across
windows his mother cleaned
at a rest stop
two exits back.
I’ve befriended the dial you grasp too tightly
from 92.9 to 106.7 in three seconds flat.
She speaks through country ballads
and late night talk shows.
Careful she’s coming unscrewed.
Soon you’ll replace her
like the map you shoved in the glove box
before stopping to ask for directions.
If you took the time to read
the twisted lines
you would see
that you’re folding my uncle
backward on his spine
his hair thinning from the edges
you’ve torn in frustration
after attempting to speak with him
in the dark or without your glasses.
He sees less of you now.
That box that sits on the dash
turn left ahead.
When you stopped for gas at exit fifty five
I mingled with the loose change
beneath your seat.
They listen for the sound
of your wallet as you take it
from the pocket of your jeans
the sound a new friend makes
before joining them to dance
among wrappers and crumbs.
Go on and break your twenty.
We’re all for change.


  -Rachel Epperly