By Aevin Mayman
Heaven in Your Side View Mirror
Raindrops shining in
your side view mirror like hydrogen
balls of fire, like those
damn-near-too-many-to-count stars.
If you could make wishes
on those tiny fireballs maybe for once
you’d feel as there as
the sky that holds them.
Roads of shadow and twisting
trees line the road on either side of you
under polluted skies of light and somber,
is it dawn or just downtown?
The celestial line has been broken,
cracked by the lightning that once formed its arches,
reality is currently less of a concept
and more of a “wish-I-may, wish-I-might.”
Streaks of fluorescent building signs–
neon life choices pass you by–
long roads and too-close clouds;
Heaven in your side view mirror.
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Twilight Delights
Maybe the rain blinds you.
Maybe it blurs your vision, or
maybe it darkens the sky that is held
in the prism of your windshield.
Maybe you can’t see the stars.
Maybe you never could, or
maybe your perception of this world
has been skewed to hide them from sight.
Or maybe it doesn’t.
Maybe it illuminates the world that you’re crying to.
Maybe she is crying too, the sky, or
maybe she is trying to make reality a little more exciting,
to say:
Look, look over there, do you see that?
Over there? On the other side of the highway.
I made Christmas lights for you out of the headlights and the fog,
Do you see them?
Post Script Magazine. 