I’m Still Here
I loved the feeling of flying
down twisty-turny tree-lined roads,
soaring fifty in town, 110 highway.
I trusted my boyfriend's driving completely,
until one day the trees entwined
with sky and road as wetumbled and tossed
and then thunk.
And I saw cheery light,
heard celebratory music,
smelled something sweeter than lilacs
and heard a voice I recognized.
He said I needed to go back to raise my family.
“I don’t have a family,” I said.
“I want to stay.”
“You have to go back,
but you will return.”
And then, oh well, I was back,
a marvel to the doctors and nurses.
I raised my family.
And I’m still here.