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  • Maria Garcia


Two cars, two lanes and one red light.

I’m seated, buckled in. My car

is silent.

I turn to my right and see a stranger.

Windows closed.

I wonder, is she listening to music?

Who is she? Does she sense me? What does she do? Does she—

We make eye contact.

In that moment we acknowledge each other's presence.

Two people. Two worlds.

My brain processing. Shifting gears.

And just like that before I can complete the thought—


The light is green and we go our separate ways.

Endless unanswered questions and the only thing left

snapshots, millions of them engraved into my mind for seconds

and then slowly pixelating away to never be remembered.

Is it possible she could have a written a poem about our

shared minute on Jericho Turnpike. A poem

where she wonders about who I am.


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