Poem

The Burning Car

Along the road, haze of sulfur and blue,

An accident has or was or will:

Death hovers, though we don’t know whose.

 

In one scene, water bursts through,

Catastrophic.

 

In another, the edge of things

Grows toxic, sharp as claws.

 

Years pass.   I take my father’s car

And hurl it like a toy

Till flames engulf it,

 

Realize I must tell my mother

That he’s dead.

 

Solitude is not this endless walk

Through liminal trees,

But the fear of truth:

 

What could be bearable

Cannot be shared.