rear-view mirror
Back seat of the car. Passenger side.
Rain hits the window and the droplets
make their meandering diagonal descent.
She drives. Carefully. Cautiously.
Scared of the rain. Scared of all things
unseasonal.
I watch her. Smooth skin, worried look.
She concentrates so hard on the road
around her. In the rear-view mirror I see
her eyes, brown and whole.
She is obsessed with her mirrors, constantly
checks them.
The water lets up. The windows clear.
The tension stays in her shoulders. I want
to tell her it’s OK now. She’s safe. We both
are. But still her eyes flicker towards that
rear-view mirror. Still she can’t rip them away
from what’s behind.
We stop. Water sprays up as the car draws to a
halt beside the pavement. The driver behind
pulls up a few lengths back. A dark figure steps out
from behind the wheel and pulling his hood up,
stalks in our direction. She starts to shake as
she watches him get closer.
Her knuckles whiten. Gripping tight on the wheel.
I sit forward and watch her eyes. Gauge the panic.
She’s so certain that I can’t help but brace myself.
The figure walks straight past, rushing to get out
of the rain. She relaxes for a moment, but quickly
returns to her rear-view mirror.
Schietree 