She borrowed the tiger’s eye necklace,
glinting
golden-amber-brown,
for a wedding.

A wedding
they never made it to.
The tire blew out on the way,
and no-one knew how to fix it so
they stayed in the car.

Heat made the air
ripple and roil;
a still pond disturbed
by the sun’s burning fingers.

Rolling down windows,
opening doors;
none of it helped.
The sun baked the moisture from the air like
bread in an oven,
sucked the sweat from their bodies like
juice from an orange,
leaving behind the shriveled skins
to petrify in its heat.

Modern-day mummies;
wedding finery for linen wrappings,
their car a crowded sarcophagus.

The amulet on her neck,
the borrowed tiger’s eye
blinking fiercely
golden-amber-brown
under the brighter, fiercer eye
of the sun.