I don't quite know where to begin – the full spin the car made
on a quickly icing Route 2, the headlights of the truck advancing,
the collision itself or the just after, how we sat back in our seats
and turned our necks left and right, looked at each other, then the hood
pulled back by the impact, the snow outside swirling thickly, dark
descending, “Are you okay?,” “I think so,” police lights punching through
the storm…I could start anywhere, really, but the story would siphon and curl
into the same, singular narrative: We are here. Everything else is disputable,
illusory as the drift piling roadside, the what-if’s whispering doom and death.
But this, alone, is undeniable and certain: the body luminous with breath.