To The Bumblebee Clinging onto my Side Mirror

By:Rachel Lechwar

I’m sorry for never rolling down my window to let you in, though I drove oh so carefully, ten miles below the speed limit in the left hand lane. The green traffic lights smeared along the front of my car like blurry afterthoughts, and I couldn’t have stopped, even if I wanted to. But I need you to know that I would have taken both hands off the wheel to cup them around your shivering body, blanket you into me like an old friend. I’ve been running from you for as long as I’ve known how to run, shielding myself from your crescendo, but here, your little legs can’t quite grip the surface of my car, gasoline breathing beast that it is.

You are a water droplet of a thing. A crooked petal body. A crinkled wing. If I could expand into the shell of my car, I’d make you a part of me, but I am tender skin that can sting and bleed. If I could have hardened my hands to shelter you, I would have let you rest in the nook of my cup-holder bed and you’d never have to know what it feels like to become the rain, sliding down my mirror and into the static yellow lines of our street.

By:Alana Rose