It’s lunchtime and here i am sitting in my van
parked in a grocery store parking lot, blowing my
nose in a used napkin. A napkin previously used to
blow my nose. Homemade vinaigrette sits on the dash
in hopes that the December sun is heavy enough to break
through the overcast and liquefy the coagulated coconut oil.
It won’t. And I realize that if I were sitting in my
Prius, instead of my work van I would satisfy so many
generalizations right now, with my pony-tail, writing
poetry, drinking kombucha. Maybe I don’t need the
Prius after all. Maybe the Prius needs me.
And the high-schoolers yell at each other across the
parking lot, desperate for attention, and the stay-at-home moms sit
in their vans, just a little longer, enjoying the silence that comes
from an afternoon car-ride nap. If i listen closely,
the traffic swells become fingertips of the beach, trying
to pull me back into her, while the douglas-fir gently wave goodbye.