Mathhew Caretti
Mercersburg, Pennsylvania, U.S.A.

Intersection

Behind me, harried gestures and the whine of a horn. The drivers cannot see the elderly man in the stalled Buick ahead of me. Beside him, a boy, maybe ten, swivels his blond head.

summer sun
the glassy wake
of a hydrant

I was once that little boy, my grandfather the driver. Some abrupt starts and stops were signs he was not well. We had shared many other road trips, our forays into the country always recollected when we returned to my parent’s home in the city. I’d perch my fist-sized Winnie the Pooh atop his belly, beside that faltering heart.

one more time—
trick candles
reignite