Driving Through Niles

The yellow hills break
against the window backlighting
your face. You say, in the winter all of this
is green and they’re ruining the ecosystem
to keep it that way. Your sister is silent
in the driver’s seat as she has been all day:
as she and I were both silent leaving the mall
earlier while you cried to yourself in the passenger seat
and we pretended you weren’t. It is
a bright summer and the perfect shot you take
of the Coca-Cola sign painted onto the side
of an old auto shop proves it—
sunlight hitting the red circle
and the dull green paint of the shop
shimmering against the sky. This
neighborhood: stopped in time.
Blue Cutlass parked by a 1950s meter
and the antique shop with rocking chairs
with wicker too frayed to be functional.
It will be a year before I learn
how to grieve the moments I missed
looking into the future. Watching you
lean out the window to capture the perfect
shot, arms stretched out as far as possible
to get closer without moving.