8:42 a.m., Stoplight
By: Loukia Borrell
Voice of Eve
2018
It’s the anniversary of your death and maybe
I won’t think of you too often this year, but
you came on strong, right at 8:42 a.m.
while I was sitting at a stoplight, listening
to Bruce Springsteen sing Brilliant Disguise.
“so when you look at me
you better look hard and look twice
is that me, baby
or just a brilliant disguise”
My lips curved down at odd, clownish angles
and I blinked back my tears, yeah, the eighties.
In the name of God, you said, I’m dead, let go of me.
I start driving again, the sun’s out but I want the rain.
Turning into my driveway, I cut the ignition and wait,
willing you to form in the passenger’s seat.
Oh girl. Stop crying, you say. I remember you
telling me that the last time I took you for a drive,
two days before you died. You could hardly sit
up or speak, and you stared at the dashboard.
“What’s that orange light?” you asked.
“Engine light. It is always on,” I said.
“Get that checked.”
I get out of the car and walk up the walkway,
my eyes burning in the sun. It’s too bright out here.
I put the key in the back door and wait for you
to catch up, reaching back to lift you up the
steps as if you were a sleepy child of mine.
