crash.

first let me say

that it was almost me.

that it was a close thing and

by a very little margin it was a red truck instead.

they’re both crying:

she has her apron on, she’s on her way to work and

she can hardly weep the crossroads into her phone.

the other one, she

is touching her broken dashboard everywhere

and her eight-month-along pregnancy

and her back hurting.

I look at my mother

and wonder how she can have a place to be here

do witnesses hold so much sway?

I wonder and in the meantime

we have pulled into our little four-person universe

the first girl’s mother

and a retired paramedic

and an off-duty cop.

we gather at the shrine of a twisted red truck

with the sun spitting down on us

and I wonder at how

despicable I am

for being able to do nothing but shake.

everyone with their cars in these intricate little dances

catching each other a moment too soon,

off balance

we create pillows for ourselves to fall into.

why can we not believe when we land on them

is it so impossible?

our little universe is

now attracting orbits

the family who lives on the corner

a boy, a girl

a man with a child on his back like a monkey

and his daughter with a kitten in her arms

we all try not to look like we’re watching

but we are

not because we want to catch another glimpse of something ruined

certainly we have enough of that of our own

but because we think there’s a chance

we’ll be needed

even if we’re not doctors

even if we’re not officers

even if we’re teachers bankers lawyers lovers loners

there might be just one instant

where our hands can support

the girl with the apron or

the girl with her back beating.

but time passes and people cry

and we are not needed.

the pregnant girl’s husband comes

running and still clutching his phone to his ear

even though they can see each other now

she hands him her purse and puts her fingers over her eyes

she cannot stand

we are not needed.

no, the ones who are called wear blue and

they think of this

they think of that

they think of everything.

he puts the purse over his shoulder.

we are cast away from their little universe

we are comets streaking back to our lives

away from where we crashed together, shaking

and what makes it all terrible

really

is that it will happen again tomorrow.

it seems right to write this with the sun in my eyes.