What is it about those faces
moments, people, places
that stick in our subconscious
for longer than they’re welcome?
They rest in secret places
ghosts of our experience
waiting for a moment
to haunt, to howl, to frighten
To take us backward suddenly
like hurtling through a windshield
That slow-mo, car crash whiplash
that drags us out in wonder
We just can’t look away
No matter time or distance
the hold on us just won’t slip
The fingers tend to tighten
at whims we never comprehend
Their jagged, jarring, twisting grip
trying to slow us down
