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We Stop and Go

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Speckle

Driving along a highway. At hundred twenty. It feels like god is watching you. The auto – buck naked – it’s only the chassis, the steering wheel, the seat, and you. You feel invulnerable in that speed because you see the rain speckles streak upwards yet you don’t feel the violent current of air that you’re piercing into.

But you are afraid of losing control. Afraid of vanishing from the story of other people’s books. And what about when others lose control?

Shift in second gear and pulse the brakes. “Never drift,” my brother told me at a downwards spiral parking lot.

Shift in first gear. “Reverse and full throttle,” my brother told me as I drifted back a steep slope.

A mix and match of speed, acceleration and deceleration. A calculation of distance. An anticipation of others in movement, in stillness. And I wondered how a school of fish would sway in unison.

Only for today we all share this road with one another. With things, with animals, with people.

And aren’t we all dreaming of home? Of good night’s sleep?

I sit in the dark of ten p.m. A desolate intersection, a face aglow of stop waiting to go.

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