I Keep Dreaming About Car Crashes
Getting T-boned at a four way intersection
because someone ran a light. I keep
having dreams about how I’ll die,
and if I die in the backseat of Quin’s car
music blaring through the speakers
threatening to blow, I keep thinking
about how my last thought will be
a happy one, and about how my mom
won’t know. No one can tell my mother
that her sad girl died happy, died singing
ABBA at the top of her lungs, because
in the backseat of Quin’s hatchback
I am not afraid to die, to break
my neck flying through the windshield,
or wrapping around a telephone pole.
I am barely afraid to live, and I don’t
close my eyes at intersections anymore,
I want to see all of it.