I love to see an arm out a passenger side window, of an ‘87 Buick or a Volkswagen Westfalia.
An arm baked brown over seven golden summers;
An arm hairy and freckled and sagging with age;
This arm, diminutive, reaching for its mother in the passenger seat;
An arm reaching back against the wind.
This arm has painted fingertips.
This arm is bound in black ribbons— words, in another language. Sanskrit? I’m driving too far behind to see.
Arms with no bodies or heads or faces attached. They could belong to anyone. To everyone.
About the Creator
Jennifer Ashley
🇨🇦 Canadian Storyteller
♾️ Metis Nation
🎓 UVic Alumni 2020
Writing published by Kingston Writers Press, Young Poets of Canada, Morning Rain Publishing, & the BC Metis Federation to teach Michif in Canadian schools.
✨YA Magical Realism✨
Keep reading
More stories from Jennifer Ashley and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Quoth
Unnoticed, the clock struck into the next day. Before my eyes, as midnight came and went, the words on the pages over which I poured blurred together. Meaningless under my over-tired gaze, they looped around themselves, slowly winding lines of text twisting themselves into knots as I watched, barely awake enough to do more than notice the change.
By Alexander McEvoy2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
A beautiful contemplation. The exact kind of observations we think about on a road trip. So many stories attached to every driver, every car, every arm outside a window. Lovely writing, as always, Jen. 😊