Condensation on the Glass

by Tiffany R. White

Condensation on the Glass


Riding down 22, I'm looking out

the window. Time is a whirlwind.

Your memory relinquishes itself, yellowed

and fraying at the edges.


It's raining and cold.

I make a smiley face in the condensation

on the window on the passenger's side.

The smile is soothing and I become a waif,

I am the white poofs of a dandelion

sprinkling your lawn with love,

I am the woman you dare not touch

for fear of falling.

I am everything I had never hoped to be,

I am everything I could want,

the paradox quickly resolving itself

in your voice.