Still Here

I'm in the driver's seat with both hands on the wheel,

the engine dead, the parking lot spread wide.

The dashboard lights still glow. This is real—

the stopped thing, the end of the ride.

I could open the door. The sun is bright.

I could call the tow truck and stand outside

like someone whose car broke down, alright

with the fact of it. But I decide

to stay here, hands gripping the wheel,

waiting for something that won't come back.

The other cars are leaving. I still feel

the heat through the windshield, the lack

of motion settling into my shoulders.

The afternoon keeps moving on.

I don't. The silence gets colder.

I'm learning how to stay when everything's gone.