I love to see an arm out a passenger side window, of an ‘87 Buick or a Volkswagen Westfalia.
An arm baked brown over seven golden summers;
An arm hairy and freckled and sagging with age;
This arm, diminutive, reaching for its mother in the passenger seat;
An arm reaching back against the wind.
This arm has painted fingertips.
This arm is bound in black ribbons— words, in another language. Sanskrit? I’m driving too far behind to see.
Arms with no bodies or heads or faces attached. They could belong to anyone. To everyone.
About the Creator
Jennifer A. G.
🇨🇦 Canadian Writer, Painter & Embroidery Artist
♾️ Métis Nation
🎓 University of Victoria Alumna
📝 Publications: The Malahat Review, Freefall Magazine, Geist, Best Canadian Poetry 2026
Keep reading
More stories from Jennifer A. G. and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Its Been One Year
It's been one year since you left me for good, one year of heartbreak. I still live here in the house by the beach, the beach you always loved going to. I remember you used to grab my hand, while we ran along this beach as the world faded around us. You were a master with the waves making it seem you had them under your control. I haven't been back to your beach since the day you left me for good, though today I ponder going back. After some time of thinking I put on my black sandals, and put on your favorite shirt of mine, the one you said made me special. As I walk out the door onto the steps down to the beach, the memories come flooding in. Every day, every night, every special moment on this beach comes back to me. I slowly pick up the sand, twist it through my fingers as it falls back to the earth. It’s still as warm and soft as it was the first day we came here though it seems it lost its golden color the day you left me for good. I lie down making the earth my bed and sit there for what seems like hours not caring what happens next, just daydreaming you were back. That's when I saw a golden necklace in the distance, it wouldn't have been enough to get me up from my bed. But this necklace was shining a special kind of gold, I just had to see it. As I get up and dust sand off my shorts and T shirt, I realize what this necklace truly is. It's the one I gave you, the day before you left me for good. It's still got our photograph embedded inside the middle, our agreed favorite one, with the words I love you like you love the waves. I can’t believe I'm holding this in my hands, this feels like some unseen dream but this is real. It's here golden as ever just like the day I first got it for you. They said your stuff was lost, though maybe you left them to the sea, the same sea I once believed you could control.
By Christian Sanchez6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
A beautiful contemplation. The exact kind of observations we think about on a road trip. So many stories attached to every driver, every car, every arm outside a window. Lovely writing, as always, Jen. 😊