wreck

Red

Open Jeep

that raptured us down to the bottom of

Cherokee Hill

Aunt Shirley’s

face, toe nails, her flip flops

stretch band that

barely tamed her

wind whipped hair, weeping  

bead work

burning my knee

reopened on soft blacktop

only minutes

before sirens

split the lazy August afternoon

Red

Bank

Baptist Church at the apex of

the curve

Beetle

helpless on its back, labeling on the cans  

Bud

scattered

empties, some full ones

church key

perhaps

thrown clear with the passengers

blood

pooling

around the pinioned driver, everything

so it seemed

except the snow

white sheet I could not help but imagine resting

cool and light

gently drawn

over my astonished

fevered face.