"Dashboard Mirror" by Monique Harris

Dashboard Mirror 
 
I like you because you’re 
smaller than the rest, your odd 
rectangular, flat, floating surface 
above my body never nudges 
out of place, never asks to see 
all of me. I clear every road 
knowing when to break, reverse, 
idle, and charge forward, and you 
don’t mind the neglect of your 
sheen, or the aggressive pull, 
the tacky dreamcatchers, 
the make-up grime, the time 
my tears went everywhere. 
I like you because I can almost 
break you with two hands. 
I can ask you to lean left or right 
and every poise is right, for once, 
and you show me the endings 
of things, like a flash of blue, 
tinted windows of caravans, 
a truck’s refusal of my pace. 
Even when the car is hot, 
and my belly is empty, 
and I don’t know where to go, 
I like you because you’re 
there — steady and ascending, 
remarkable at your distance. 

Monique Harris

Monique Harris is a teacher and writer from Raleigh, North Carolina. She has an MFA from Indiana University and currently enjoys teaching at the college level, helping others develop their love for reading and writing. Her writing explores Black womanhood, mental health, and spirituality and can be found in Wards Literary Magazine, Torch Literary Magazine, and upcoming in Talon Literary Review and Yellow Arrow Journal. Her interests include reading, hiking, and holistic healing. 

Headshot: Monique Harris

Photo Credit: Staff