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  • Writer's pictureJW Bella


Updated: May 17, 2019

I kissed Mike at 11 years old in your backseat while

waiting for my grandma to finish talking to her friends at church.

You kept my secret all these years.

You kept me safe when bullets rang out as I waited for Uncle Chuck

to get out the liquor store with his daily 40 ounce.

Your doors seemed closer as police sirens rang and rounded the corner for the culprit.

You comforted my sippy cup

when I couldn’t hold her up and said nothing

when red kool-aid covered your soft and delicate fabric.

You acted surprised as I giggled when mom turned around.

You let me sleep and drool on your back seat

when trips go for hundreds of miles

without any bathroom breaks or picturesque moments.

You are perfection’s resting place among vacation’s rat race.

You have been with me, and there’s no way to repay you.

So rest, my Pearl,

among tall grass,

empty beer cans,

broken chairs stolen from church. Let your oil feed grass.

Let your engine be home to displaced insects and dust.

Let your seats be restrooms for stray cats and chasing dogs.

I love you.

My yard will learn to adore you too.

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