The tires skidded and spun, then screeched,
Your hands gripped the leather steering wheel,
No impact, no crash, no screams.
I stared at you through the dirty windshield,
There was something in my eyes that your hazel ones couldn’t see,
Something you couldn’t predict or read,
An emotion on my face you didn’t know, no surprise, no fear.
You never thought you would see me again, especially not here,
The message behind all these poems is crystal clear,
I see that you have my work framed on your walls, a souvenir,
And all the oxygen just got sucked out of the atmosphere.
– Norah Alhagan