What you took in the trunk of your car

I didn’t notice
how full the trunk was,
I was too busy trying to recreate
what my eyebrows do
when I’m upset,
And I was waving with Mom and Dad
to your shrinking bumper,
so every other second
all I could see was the back of my hand.

You’d packed a few things of mine,
accidentally.
Years later
when I stopped waving
at the bare horizon,
(I could’ve sworn
there was still a speck)
I really missed them.

Had I known then
that those things of mine
were rolling away from my life,
I would’ve chased your trail of smoke,
roaring,
jumped in through the passenger window,
wild,
but you’d have booted me out the door,
lest I crash us both.

You’d have zoomed on
towards the otherworldly sunrise,
you'd have left me there
on the hot charcoal asphalt,
dirty, without my things,
in hanging dust from spinning tires,
eyes watering.

But at least in that red,
bloody moment,
my eyebrows would’ve known
exactly what to do.