Wildflowers traced the road’s edges
and danced to the harmonies of Eric Clapton.
My step-father sang to my mother while I peered out the window.
We were almost home.
My step-father motioned for me to sit up front and grab hold of the wheel.
The power of the vehicle drove through my veins
affecting me like Clapton affected the wildflowers.
A quick **** of the wheel sent my family and I off the road
into a world of slow-motion.

Blank images,
vague sounds,
that’s all I remember.
Until I saw my mother
laying motionless, traced by the wildflowers.