Rearview Reflections

Fogged glass, cold breath pressed to plastic,

a cracked vent humming soft behind my neck.

Radio murmurs low, the road a ribbon unspooling.

Restless legs folded tight,

staring out at street lamps blurred like stars,

each mile folding memories into the dark.

The car rocks slow—rocking past old houses,

whispers of childhood folded in backseat silence,

a waiting room stitched from windows and sighs.