landrover

in the corner of my young eyes i saw your fingers,
tapping and bumping against your landrover’s steering wheel,
“who cares what games we choose” you sing,
your hand chasing those greasy fries in my wendy’s paper bag,
“little to win, but nothing to lose”.
i would brace for the potholes on my seat, with a dripping burger in my hand,
the taste of acidic ketchup filling up my mouth,
and the waves of CO2 gas and the michigan cold painting my nose a painful red.

after you’ve departed i’ve been at war,
scrimmages with hot smoke and supersonic bullets unfolding as i glance at your ashes,
i remember me, your daughter, holding the box of you, on our last drive.
no music, no processed american grease, no run down trembling engine,
but the shale gray spring sky, the heat in the air teasing us,
appearing, then drawing back to cold,
a kind of cold we would find ourselves in, that we would hate, but we’d endure,
knowing the comfort of each other’s existence would pull us through.
my mother’s ford focus engine only hums,
and her silence speaks ancient words only the ones left behind can understand.
truth be told i hated how your engine squeaked and faltered
as we zoomed across the roads of your old town.
but it’s what you could offer, and i let it be, and you let me be, be whatever i wanted to be.
and how will i ever see these same old roads in the way i saw them with you?
that’s the problem, i can’t.
we simply were, what we were, and nothing could ever change that

Laura Kuzmicz is a young writer who has just graduated with a BA in English Writing and Journalism from Aquinas College in Grand Rapids Michigan, her hometown. In her spare time, she writes fiction and poetry, mainly focusing on grief, magical realism, and unique femininity. Laura is also an aspiring screenwriter.