Molly Smith

My sister and I split the last of the anti-anxiety gummies
on the way to the airport
They taste like cheap lip gloss
And the familiar bittersweetness of endings

38 minutes to Midway

The further we drive the more I feel like a
rubber band
One end fixated at my grandma’s little house
The more distance covered only means
the harder I’ll snap back on return
The force of impact will break my bones

15 minutes to Midway

We said we’d get lunch at the airport
We both know we won’t be hungry
maybe we’ll pay $15 for a pack of crackers
My shoulder is still stiff from sharing the guest bed
I imagine my whole arm snapping off when lifting my suitcase

7 minutes to Midway

I hand my sister one of my AirPods
As she takes it I feel
The isolation that steps on my heart like a brake pedal
Ease up
Creep back

I feel her rubber band stretch too

I look in the mirror and I finally see it
The grief on her face

Her arms wrapped around her waist
Keeping her organs from spilling and spewing out of her skin

Her cheeks wet with tears that burn like spilled
coffee and car crashes and oxygen tanks

her mouth is open in a soundless cry
that only the birds can understand
when their tune shifts to a minor key

they peck at her ears like rain drops on a roof
their wings dancing as they flutter away in fear
when her knees drop to the floor

I also understand her
I feel comfort in her grief
I reach for her, caressing a warbling mirror
This also comforts me
The bendable nature of reflection