little red

filled with leather and memories as bright as its exterior
painted on the back of my eyelids
like the fading blurs of fireworks
some shine new and favorite,
like the hood and doors,
some forgotten, dark, and uncomfortable,
like the messy smudged bottom
pipes and tubes

a drive to a pool party
summer songs, windows down
sunburns from the open roof
sticky leather and sweet cool drinks

a night drive to help a friend
crying and shaking
carrying all her pain into the metal room
caring words spoken while looking over the steering wheel

a road trip across the country
fighting with siblings all through Nebraska
feigning sleep so mom will leave us alone 
freeway games, pretzels, carrots, fries

an evening drive to get a frosty
hands freezing on sweating cups
holding spoons and hands
having a friend, smiling, and talking

a midnight drive to his house
warm inside the heated car, snow outside
whatever happens, we have now
we say things, when we aren't kissing.

i look at little red
the scratches, the stickers, the streaks of rain on the window
marked by time, but still loved
still worth all the more because of the memories shared.