Pamela Merrell
Monday mornings are the worst
until that early September Tuesday in Missoula.
On the radio, Jennifer Lopez serenades my bedroom
with “I’m Real” while I dress in the company
of my sliding, mirrored closet doors.
Blue jeans with iron-on patches and permanent
red hearts, drawn symmetrically on each rear pocket.
Brown shirt that flashes a reminder from Smokey the Bear,
cropped to display my belly button’s accessory–
Only you can prevent forest fires.
Left foot to clutch. Right foot to brake. Press down in unison.
Shifter in neutral. Key to ignition. Turn to start. Set E-brake.
First period starts at 7:50. Hurry! Let’s go!
It’s 6:30 when we load into Beatrice–1987 red Nissan Pulsar.
Drive my little sister to junior high school. Get out.
6:45–solo inhabitant of my whip.
I prepare for a jam session prior to the traffic battle.
Radio dial set. No music, only frantic cries from the DJ.
A commercial airliner collided with a building in New York City.
Station change. Same hysterical message–and a second plane.
Panic! Like Earth’s inner core just stopped spinning!
Pamela Merrell is in her first year at RMC, pursuing double majors in political science and English. She plans to attend law school and practice law in Montana. She enjoys writing poetry and fictional short stories. Pamela is a mother of four, wife of a law enforcement officer, and an animal advocate.
The Rocky Mountain Review 