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.