Accident

The deer popped like a flashbulb
in front of the car.
My head cracked the side window
bursting star rays into glass,
into my mind, a black-and-white firework display
with the seat belt catching my throat
in an assassin’s hand squeezing
heart throbs out of my veins,
closing my eyes in death.
But I awake, not like Sleeping Beauty
with a kiss upon my lips
but buried-alive screaming
until I see the car not a casket.
My love slumps in her seat belt,
a hanging victim with swing.
Someone hit her with a water balloon
filled with red food coloring
knocking her glasses off
taking away sight though eyes pretend they see.
I whisper her name afraid to wake her pain,
afraid not to wake her,
but she is beyond
good-bye,
since death did us part.

—Diane Webster

 

BIO: Diane Webster’s goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life or nature or an overheard phrase and to write from her perspective at the moment. Many nights she falls asleep juggling images to fit into a poem. Her work has appeared in Philadelphia Poets, Illya’s Honey, River Poets Journal, and other literary magazines.

 

The deer popped like a flashbulb

in front of the car.

My head cracked the side window

bursting star rays into glass,

into my mind, a black-and-white firework display

with the seat belt catching my throat

in an assassin’s hand squeezing

heart throbs out of my veins,

closing my eyes in death.

But I awake, not like Sleeping Beauty

with a kiss upon my lips

but buried-alive screaming

until I see the car not a casket.

My love slumps in her seat belt,

a hanging victim with swing.

Someone hit her with a water balloon

filled with red food coloring

knocking her glasses off

taking away sight though eyes pretend they see.

I whisper her name afraid to wake her pain,

afraid not to wake her,

but she is beyond

good-bye,

since death did us part.

 

—Diane Webster