In a Fugue
Lost and wandering in a white Chevrolet
I adjust the rear view mirror
Running my hand back through my hair
The knob leaves me curious
Everything around me is new:
The lightheadedness lasts just seconds
the swingset and sandbox in a fenced in backyard
Finalizing the ten hour drive
Unable to eat, rubbing my bump
confused by photographs and plastic cards
and other documentation
discovered inside the wallet found in my pocket.
and study my reflection
ninety-nine percent sure that the face
agrees with the license.
I uncover a grade A bump
the surface as tender as a bruised heart.
as to its origination
the moment just before
and just after its appearance.
interstate and gravel
trees and cornrows
the white Chevrolet.
every thirty miles or so
a sensational feeling revealing hours
of flashbacks
of a life that did not belong to me.
the rainy night at the high school prom
a college chemistry exam
a woman and two small children.
the Chevrolet exits into a reststop
parks among the tractor trailers for the night.
I fall asleep wanting to dream
of awakening with a name
that I can call my own.
