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.