I'm Dead

I have too often considered
than on October 23, 2004
zooming down a pitch black
one lane
Dutchess county back road
in Lilah's grandmother's green Subaru
with Brendan sitting shotgun
and recounting the plot of War and Peace
while Lilah giggled in annoyance
and I leaned forward, unbelted
between their seats to hear
that when Lilah ran through
a
3
second
stale
red light
at the only intersection for 15 miles
just as an RV
came barreling through on the left
-- it is entirely possible
that as I screamed
and Lilah jammed on the accelerator
that we may not have passed
mere inches ahead of the 7 ton behemoth
but may have, in fact,
been smashed, imploded,
burst in a puddle of blood and fibers,
shot through with metal shards and glass
and quickly breathed out our last breaths
--and that every second since then
every dance class, every park walk
every breakfast, babe, snack, steps,
this cloudy morning, your sweet new glasses
every birthday balloon, shampoo rinse and condition,
dirty feet and waterfall underhikes
--have all been my death-dream
my sweet hereafter, Shangri-la
I have been dead since I was 19 years old.