Hydroplane

A car drives along winding road in West Orange, NJ as an American flag below in the distance behind it in February of 2020. (Zoe Van Gelder for Public Square Amplified)

Since childhood

I’d watch the rain droplets

race one another down the window

I’d watch droplets swallow one another in the 

race along the pane

Our car zoomed along the highway, the

speed and wind forcing 

Crashes among the droplets against one another

The clouds would be blotched against the sky, 

grey and white

From my car seat it would all only excite me

Which droplet will reach the bottom of the window pane first?

Which droplet will win the race?

But when rain becomes downpour

When grey skies turn red

When the wind stops whooshing and begins howling

When my car seat is gone

I wish the car would slow down

and sputter out

a dull hydroplane 

As the car sputters into a hydroplane 

I can freeze the image out of the window

capture the rain drops in a singular frame

But the car still moves 

I can’t decide whether I must be inside or outside of the car 

To stop it