Fast Cars
by Carol Lynne Knight
— Life
If I go missing,
send Charlie Crews to find me.
If he finds me, we will share a moment
like small fish swimming together in the same bowl
All could be shattered and we would still have the next moment.
I am still missing, Charlie Crews
and although we both drive fast cars,
somehow speed was not enough to bring us together.
I would stuff my Corvette with grocery bags,
my son’s legs dangling over the scratchy brown paper.
The cars — attachments that we must let go.
I’m letting go. Is it Zen to expect
someone will catch me,
that there will be the peace of a cat
sleeping with curling paws and back legs splayed,
or must I let go of that reckless driver called hope?
I will wait just 15 more minutes,
bargaining with my wristwatch.
Find me! I am waiting in the parking lot
at the Burger King near the overpass on 49th Street.
I thought I was waiting for my lover
but I don’t think he ever loved me,
which made the minutes fry, then salt,
which made me hope for sweetness,
which made me explode the moment
into an asphalt nightmare.
We may have been condemned,
but we can still drive fast cars
and stop waiting for stalled lovers.
So, find me.
No one has taken me,
no one has hidden me,
but I am missing.
If I understand time, will I be blessed or cursed?
If I am the girl waiting in the parking lot,
I shall bring a book, so I will not be waiting, but reading,
not look up or create a rumbling muffler that signifies my lover,
whom I think I love, but as I remember him ... could not now love,
except in that universal way that humans love their species.
Oh! — if I love 7 billion people, no wonder I am exhausted.
Find me Charlie Crews, find the minute that is ours,
that fictional minute that is now, but has passed since I asked you.
I am caught in a nanosecond when my car keys disappear, and if
I cannot find my keys, I am locked out of that fast car we both love.
If I locate the key, can we go on a road trip?
There is something easy
about conversation at 70 mph,
speech merged with speed, with confession,
with landscape and wind.
I’m unloading the groceries
from the Corvette, and driving.
Intercept me at the rest stop on I-75 —
the one north of Paynes Prairie.
I’ll be waiting, head against the glass,
book open to the last page.
The Drowning Gull
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