Long Drives and Panic Attacks
By Sonya Minner
It’s been a long winter.
The kind where snow suffocates,
gray skies linger, even roads give way.
The snow isn’t the only one suffocating.
I hear your voice; its distant, like I’m under water,
but the pond’s frozen over and I wonder if you realize:
Cracks in the ice, cracks in me.
I know sometimes we break, can’t stand the pressure, and
I know the tight feeling in my chest won’t go unanswered.
Sometimes we crumble like asphalt beneath tires.
I’m smashing my fist against the ice;
no, the asphalt; no, the steering wheel,
because I’m driving, no pond in sight.
I’m not trapped but I can’t breathe.
My chest is twisted in sailor’s knots,
shallow breaths, get a grip.
The steering wheel, the long drive.
You’re not losing it. Hold tighter.
I’m begging you: tell me something.
Give me relief, as if I’m in pain
and you’re offering the drugs.
Tell me I’ll get through this.
Tell me about clarity, tell me to keep going,
and tell me I’ll find what I’m looking for if I drive
long enough to run out of gas.
Exit signs, flashes of green, glimpses of lives unknown.
I grip the steering wheel with white knuckles
but breathe because I’m alive.
The snow is a blank canvas and the
pot holes won't see next winter.
The kind where snow suffocates,
gray skies linger, even roads give way.
The snow isn’t the only one suffocating.
I hear your voice; its distant, like I’m under water,
but the pond’s frozen over and I wonder if you realize:
Cracks in the ice, cracks in me.
I know sometimes we break, can’t stand the pressure, and
I know the tight feeling in my chest won’t go unanswered.
Sometimes we crumble like asphalt beneath tires.
I’m smashing my fist against the ice;
no, the asphalt; no, the steering wheel,
because I’m driving, no pond in sight.
I’m not trapped but I can’t breathe.
My chest is twisted in sailor’s knots,
shallow breaths, get a grip.
The steering wheel, the long drive.
You’re not losing it. Hold tighter.
I’m begging you: tell me something.
Give me relief, as if I’m in pain
and you’re offering the drugs.
Tell me I’ll get through this.
Tell me about clarity, tell me to keep going,
and tell me I’ll find what I’m looking for if I drive
long enough to run out of gas.
Exit signs, flashes of green, glimpses of lives unknown.
I grip the steering wheel with white knuckles
but breathe because I’m alive.
The snow is a blank canvas and the
pot holes won't see next winter.
About the Author
My name is Sonya Minner and I'm currently a junior at Cal U. I'm a Creative Writing major, and I hope one day the book you're holding in your hand will have my name on it.