It began as bright
as the red Mercedes
you parked in my drive
the day we met, years ago, opera
singing from the dash.
It lingered, slow
as your truck today,
shining white
in traffic, your horn
loud enough
to reach the sun
on its longest path.
All that light
fooling me
into thinking the hours
hadn’t passed. And your gaze
after so much
time, still
hot like that.
–
Susan Trofimow is a writer living in Massachusetts. Her work has appeared in River Heron Review, Barren Magazine, Rust + Moth, Atticus Review, 8 Poems, Parentheses Journal, and others.