My Hands Shake While I Turn The Car On Poem by Gert Strydom

Against the fogged car window
my fingers call to the outside
while you walk away
tossing away the past, of years long.

There’s a chill folding around you
while you are holding yourself brave,
lifting your head in a recalcitrant way
and my hart is still calling to you

and you believe that every clicking clacking step
gives you greater freedom
and I have loved you in vain
and you walk away to your studio

pulling the door bolted locked tight
as you have already decided
to ward off the world and life
and my hands shake while I turn the car on.