rainbows & parking lots

it was an ordinary night,
the sky barely pierced
by the stars,
my dog’s nose pressed against
the moist earth,
the smell of ordinary
lingering in the air.

I lift my eyes
looking up at the lights
in the parking lot
and I see them —
orbs of rainbow color
surrounding each light
in the parking lot.

some brighter,
some broader,
some barely there.

what makes one different from the other?

maybe it’s the cars
parked around them;
the people that own them.
Their lives.
Their secrets.
Their hopes and dreams.
The cumulation of all those things
is somehow reflected
in the rainbow lights —
their shape,
their transparency,
their strength.

after all, energy never dies;
it never truly disappears,
it just transforms itself,
taking on
new form,
new life,
new meaning.

there must be something
truly beautiful
hidden in the glove compartment
of each car in that parking lot.

the one underneath the biggest,
brightest rainbow orb,
its glove compartment contains
a white silk glove,
now stained,
a rose stem without the rose,
a smear of white frosting
on an empty lavender envelope,
and a labelless CD
with a compilation
of seventies songs.

the car right next to it,
parked under a much softer light,
holds in its glove compartment
an old copy of Maitreyi,
plenty of cigarette ash
and brown cigarette buds,
none smeared with lipstick,
a dirty rag once used
to wipe the cigarette ash,
and a half-empty bag
of goldfish crackers,
now stale and expired.

the most expensive-looking car there,
somewhat hidden
by the lack of luster
coming from the light above it,
the roomiest of the glove compartments
holds nothing more
than an expensive pair of eyewear
and an alcohol-free,
moisturizing mouth spray.

these cars don’t just carry
our groceries,
our dogs,
our dreams.

they become them
and everything
that will ever inhabit them.