The First Time We Crashed

The first time we crashed,

that red Grand Cherokee

whistled through frosted air.

The silver flakes tinting the glass,

the radio and engine harmonized their hum.

We’re not well dressed for winter:

sequins, sparkles and magnificent blades.

The jeep sang for the iced concrete,

—growing quicker in tempo—

until the world turned upside down.

Shards from the mosaic window freckled our cheeks.

Outside, we held onto each other's breath,

grateful for our drumming hearts.