Lit Writ

Ghosts of Winter

Fringe Arts Maichina Veri — Published March 22, 2011

the only thing left of my mother is her car

a metal womb i’d like to drive north

to the land of perpetual snow

ignore the shadows in the rearview mirror

stick shift through damage control

stop kill engine

curl dream of sleep

sleep for days and do nothing to clear the whiteness encompassing

frozen for decades in the driver’s seat

there’s nothing to do anyway