orange/nostalgia/miami by shannie rao

It comes in the sound of violins

shrieking at first then quieter

as they find their rhythms

and swim across your mind.

Those strings seem to carry you back

bringing up lullabies

torn and wrapped up tight

in used paper bags

stuffed into the truck of the car—

unseen but always there

as your drive down the road and hear

her ghost next to you singing,

feel the lifeless hands creep across

the divide to hold you.

Maybe there were never

any strings at all—just her voice

calling you and the orange peels

that litter the floor of the car

like pieces of her you tried to throw away

but never could. The car drives

on with a will of its own. The voice

sings in your mind; you shiver

as a warm breeze blows.