"On car rides" by Rebecca Herrera



if only i could get in my toyota before the moon dims

the radio on silver springs and warm ways

our voices overlap the words like a ritual

and i miss my exit


you remember those times we drove to the south shore?

the sea flushed lavender and the sun

tinted the sky like a mai tai

saltwater curling my hair like love


do you still have that same chevrolet?

with the sunroof and wooden panel on the side?

i named my new car daisy after an air freshener

i bought in an autozone, or after the great gatsby


there are no memories of you in my new car

no memories of stars on a pitch-black skyline

admiring hoboken across the river

no memories on 59th in front of the van goghs


my gas tank is almost empty

a clean slate




Rebecca Herrera is an artsy, strawberry-haired kid born and raised in New York. They graduated from the Fashion Institute of Technology with a degree in Art History. She has had work featured in The Aurora Journal, Hecate Magazine, Stuck in Notes, and more. She currently lives in an apartment with her two plants, Orpheus and Eurydice.


Instagram: strawberry.img

Twitter: strawburrymoon

Related Posts

See All

"Brand new (almost)" by Hannah Stephings

I come out of the water, gleaming, panting and try to leave you far out at the sea amongst the foam and fishing boats. out on the pebbled shore, swaddled in a rough, peach towel I’m cleaner, brighter,

"Campfire" by Rachel Jung

The fire pulses with a hum like a bee’s and the fizz of rain-damp wood. Our drowsy eyes are drawn to where the flames lick– curled crescents of orange peel. Sparks, a mimicry of the stars crowning our