To My CR-V
by Taryn R. Martin
Cleaning out my totaled car
was opening the time capsule
I wasn’t ready to see yet.
The burn mark on the arm rest
from her vanilla Black & Mild.
The steering wheel I squeezed tight when
he finally said, “I love you,”
and I couldn’t say it back
on the drive home in that storm.
My aviators air-bag bent
in that third and final crash.
One last glance at the trunk where
we would sit or lie, door open,
as he peeled labels off countless
green bottles in parking lots when
life was easy and love made sense.
The spool of lucky robin’s egg
ribbon I’d tied to all their wrists,
Which now lay forgotten atop
My driver’s registration
In the cold glove compartment.
And the McDonald’s happy meal
monkey that watched it all, and
silently judged our actions.
What do you think? (Please be kind.)
P.S. Sorry the font's all weird where I copy pasted.