Rearview Memories

Raindrops raced across the glass,

tiny highways in a blurred landscape.

I pressed my forehead to the cold pane,

watching the world wash sideways.

The back seat creaked beneath me,

familiar and cramped,

a cage with soft leather and my small

fingers tapping restless rhythms.

Outside, trees smeared into streaks,

the sky a bruised gray watercolor.

Inside, the hum of tires, the occasional laugh,

a distant radio tuning in and out.

I folded into that moving space,

half asleep, half waiting,

a child caught between here and home,

between now and somewhere else.