Passenger

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It is thirty-five degrees outside. As I pray
for ice-free roads, I drive the car.
My body slumps into the seat, very aware of
the physical weariness from the weekend.
Traffic lights come flooding over the mountain,
stretching into the black sky with vibrant rays
of red and white.
Opus 23 softly resounds throughout the car.
I can’t help but glance over to you sleeping
in the passenger seat.
Every other ten minutes or so you shift
your sleepy body.
I kiss my fingers and carry it to your forehead.
You are warm.
Your lips part as you gently breathe through your mouth.
I want nothing more than to stop the car,
unbuckle my seat belt, pull your head to my chest,
and hold you there.
You sleep the whole way home
as I think, the whole way home,
how fortunate I am to have you
sleeping next to me.

 

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