Carwash

The Mazda cocoon rocked and swayed in the crossfire of water and foam. Humidity and the smell of clean packed the car through every vent, a warm shadow of relief from the frigid blue day that had frozen grime to her every surface. Soap and wax sluiced over the shell as she was dragged down the track, dripping salt and the earth of three states. She became no longer a car, the wheels locked, the steering useless. The windshield gave no view; it was opaque like a dark marble or a locket, and I was the twist of color captured inside, powerless and giddy.