Poem to the Car My Marriage Died In

Poem to the Car My Marriage Died In

In the back seat, I lock my legs around his waist, dying

To melt into him. We lean, straining

To stay connected, sweat mixed in rivulets.

Sliding down the buttery leather.

In the front seat, I lock the car doors, weeping

To find connection with him. We strain, leaning

On one another, tears smeared on cheeks.

Cool plastic digging into my chest.

In the trunk, I lock the suitcase, praying

To stay connected to him. We crack, breaking

Brittle hearts in two, blood oozed from pieces.

Rust dissolving in rain.

We break, cracking what was once sealed,

Connected. Locked.