Road Signs

I speed past pine and cypress,
trunks and branches
blending into a collective
scowl.
“I never meant
to go this fast” I tell them
as if trees can hear, as if
anyone other than God
can register whispers
from beyond my car’s
windows.
Yet my mom —
a month today since cancer
killed her — comes back
at me with one of my wife’s
favorite lines, “Intentions
are not actions” and — how?
Now they’re in the backseat
laughing, leaning against
each other to keep
from falling over. It doesn’t
make sense...for Mom to be
recomposed, for Yordi
to be here and also home
where I’m headed, for pine
and cypress to merge into a
face.
Whenever I think
life is passing me by,
I find myself going
faster.
Above the sunset’s
flux of pastels, a dark
cloud relinquishes its
rain.
“Mom?”
but the only reply
is the drumming of hundreds
of drops, signaling that I
should slow down
for this sharp left
turn.