There are myths about cars that are haunted
By the bullets and cruelty within;
This rusted car is full of spirit
It flashes wings like the fog, the clouds
Wide as the highway sky.
This morning it sits up on planking
In the emptiness of a side yard
And what you can't see in the bright winter sun
Are the sunflower seeds below.
This car remembers how different pain and birth
Anneal
Next summer you'll find every window
Full of yellow and birds
Singing to the baby who's now
Eighty years down the road.
It's Christmas where snow isn't falling
Where sunlight is flooding the plains
Families are remembering their stories
In the wake of the holiday.
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