poem 028
i was driving today
the sun had just risen
on my way to my first real adult job
in my new (used) Volkswagen beetle
and i couldn’t help but remember
what it was like to drive around with you, dad.
we both like the silence the hum of the car gives us,
the way the radio excuses unfavorable conversation
i even drive like you, dad
right arm fully extended,
while the left rests at the bottom of the window
just like you, dad.
i listen to music when i can’t fall asleep
usually when i’m alone, so it creates this
falsehood that someone’s there with me
mom said you used to do that too
i like to think i look like mom
but sometimes when i smile in the mirror, i see your smile too
i hear traces of your laugh in mine
i don’t think i like it
i think i want it to go away
but i’m just starting to enjoy my time alone
and i’m afraid to make a change
what if the parts of you and mom really do equal me
what if i can’t do this alone
what if someone, someday, falls in love with the idea of me, but it’s you two
we aren’t our parents but sometimes it’s hard not to see the resemblance
there are days where my head falls silent
and others where the conversation never ceases
there are nights where i tell myself jokes to make myself laugh
just because i haven’t that day
i sing to myself, because i don’t think anyone else will.
i used to sing in my old car with the speakers blasting sound
but i’ve purchased the wrong aux cord, so the music is low
and i begin to truly hear how i sound
and i begin to truly hear how scared i am, to sit alone and sing in this car
