car crash
by Priya Ele
i’d just gotten into a car crash but you still asked me to pick you
up and i did, my fingers crackling over the steering wheel
the front right side of my car, where you got in, a mess of swollen lights
and spun metal and curves that paint out a melody
of the pop and pull and strike that somehow feels
like when your hand pressed to the small of my back
and you said you didn't even notice the damage
the mess in my wide eyes and open lips and
i think i'm in love with you and i think
that’s written over the tire that didn't burst and the light
that didn't go out and the steel that didn’t completely pull to ruin
i never remember the way to your house but im sure i would
now i'm tearing my fingers to shreds writing this
i wonder if you’d notice before the blood pulls to light
before the airbags implode
before i start crying in your arms
when i knew you didn't know what to say
and it didn’t matter it never mattered
because at least you were holding me
like ice about to crack
like a car about to to turn from
a missed red light
and a stolen glance
and the way you won’t look back at me
and crash.
About the Author
Priya Ele is a New York based writer. She studies dramatic writing at NYU Tisch School of the Arts. She's had multiple works of short fiction and poetry published and a play produced.