by Emily Bjustrom
Diving past the general mills factory
A sweet scent wafts into the car
It reaches deep past my guts and through my spine
into the backseat of my dad’s car.
In the driver’s seat he takes an exaggerated sniff says what do you think? I think coco puffs, No! Froot Loops.
There are places in my childhood I can touch without flinching
But here is something swollen and heavy
It’s the sense of safety
Sleepy but happy in the back of the car
Head against the window
I can’t reach it without the scent of baking cereal drifting in through the open window.
It floors me again and again.
I am weeping on the highway
For the child was
And the woman I am.