my fondest memory:
climbing into the bed of my father’s truck
with my sister by my side,
hands over our mouths to hush the giggles
and the cold metal on my back.
my mom drove to the fire station from home with us in the trunk,
my grandmother cooed in surprise.
I could see only the sky
the milky blue gray of mixed paint colors
like the walls of a baby boy’s room who died at birth.
the sky was interrupted by flocks of birds flying by
and I felt that I could fly with them,
green pine trees I could smell if I closed my eyes,
spindly brown branches
telephone lines and cracked street signs,
the ghosts of clouds stagnant in the air.
and I felt happy
despite the cuts on my thighs and wrists
I felt free
the wind didn’t chill my bones
and neither did the metal
I couldn’t feel cold
only euphoria.
the road twisted and turned,
I felt the ridges of the trunk roll over my spine,
I rode in the back seat on the way home.

- ck