Featured Poem
Red Light, Green Light
Charlene Stegman Moskal
So I’m driving down the road
singing along to oldies
and I forget what I look like.
I see me in that space behind my eyes;
my then long brown hair, then face, then body
and I don’t want to think it isn’t true
so I don’t pull the mirror down to look.
I know what I’ll see; a stranger behind the wheel
someone old, scary looking,
someone I never imagined; a crone, a hag,
a person with a face I don’t recognize
but she has taken my voice into her.
.
It is my voice from then—
strong, strident, belting chest voice
as if I could still sing with my back-up band,
move like the girl in the photo, the one in the string bikini
who looks like coffee ice cream melted into the shape
of a woman, tan, long, lean and lovely.
And I’m still singing when a young guy at the light
looks, laughs, gives me a thumbs up and I give him
my come-on look, that subtle, slow, sly smile
because I forgot this is now;
I am embarrassed. stop singing, pull away fast
when both the light and I change.
Originally appeared in Coneflower Cafe, Spring 2023.