Just Moments

By Rifke Anolik 

 

There are passing moments

The low hanging ceiling in my father’s tomato jalopy

My mother calling the name she’d given me–the one I’d never connected to–

Through a Macy’s store

Loud enough to fill me with disdain for her

My sister

Sending a coded note on the pulley system

Designed for the hours after bedtime

But these are just moments

 

The deep red guitar, Jade, who sits

Patient in the bedroom corner

Banners and tickets along my once reflective cosmetic mirror

Playlists that date back to our first year

In high school

But these are just moments

 

The long drives through New England forests

To see you

The first time you saw me with disapproval for following their footsteps

For lighting candles Friday night

But these are just moments

 

When I blacked out behind the wheel

80 miles per hour down the Garden State

Pretended it wasn’t your fault

When the water called to us

Like sirens

And we left nothing to come between

When we would track gas prices

Before we were old enough to reach the pedal

But these are just moments

 

 

Rifke’s Bio:

I am currently a student in the Nutritional Sciences Department. I grew up in Massachusetts but moved with my family to Highland Park (just over the bridge from New Brunswick) when I was in elementary school. I am hoping to attend medical school after I graduate, but if that doesn’t work out, I’d just as gladly be a journalist!