Front Seat

by Morgan Bazilian

Front Seat

Front Seat

I see her driving the minivan
Gray, unwashed,

Her daughter in the front seat
Putting her hair up.

She is staring ahead at traffic
Stopped at a light.

Probably going to swim lessons
Or violin.

Her husband, the girl’s dad
Died a month ago.

The crying is mostly over
At least during the days.

His smell still in the carpets
And the upholstery.

An old sweatshirt of his
Laying on the back seat.

They drive ahead
When the light goes green.


A Choir

The little blond girl seems non-plussed
Yellow flowers being handed to her
Which she elegantly
Softly with a small nod

Then she stares confidently
At the piano player
Her teacher
Who begins the song
With a nod.

And she starts the song
Just the girl’s voice
So light, so high
But confident
Half smiling and singing.

An image stays on the screen below the choir
Of her dad kneeling to hold her
Her little girl big stomach
Half out of her bed clothes
Her small hand grabbing his thumb.

About the author

Morgan Bazilian

Morgan Bazilian is an American-Irish poet and academic. He has a Ph.D. in Energy Systems and Thermodynamics from University of New South Wales. His poetry and fiction have appeared in numerous literary publications, including The Fictional Café, Narrative Northeast, Triggerfish Critical Review, Change Seven, Flatbush Review, and more.

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