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.