Freeway 2025

I can’t see through the glare of the screen

reflecting lights back at me.

It was the sounds of the freeway

that led me here

The stream of the cars,

angry and awake at 3:00 in the morning.

Hurrying violently, 

metallic screaming

birds occasionally fighting back with song.

Confused 

Isn’t it night?

The time to rest?

Not for those living here.

Biting their nails and biting their tongues,

occasionally a cruel “noticing”

slipping through their lips.

Their fear of death and slipping fingers

leading to control clothed in kindness.

SLOW

Slow is a tongue no longer wagging but licking

Slow is a quiet mind

Slow is the lap of water against a dock, or legs, or rocks

Slow are the bubbles of champagne fizzing as the sun sets

Slow is the seed in the earth growing into the plant

Slow is the loud silence of nature

Slow is the wind making the grass dance in the light of the sun

Slow is the taste of hot black coffee, but not the sensation after when it hits the bloodstream

Slow is the aging nick nacks and brick a brack passed down from family member to family member

Slow is a nap taken at the top of a mountain or in a cabin of girls, the sticky heat of a lighting storm

Slow is the flu and a cat in your arms

Slow is rose petals, scent, tea, color

Lily Buckner

Moritz Bastian