Collide
A poem by Julia R. DeStefano
Collide
I think you near-collided with me today.
Early afternoon, Broadway construction.
My thoughts racing.
Your red sports car like a stop sign.
Enough to jar me
as I swerved right to make my turn.
Head on heart collision.
And if it wasn’t you, I don’t want to know.
I’d rather pretend.
You see, so much has changed
that’s brought me to my knees.
These pages of my life
writing themselves in morse code
without my approval.
And I don’t know which way is up or down.
I feel inside out.
Swathing myself in red for protection.
Fingering your pendant upon my neck
like some nervous tic.
Needing this separation to end.
As the radio starts playing a song called “Collide”
that I haven’t heard in years,
and the poem begins to write itself.
I’ve been trying to make sense
of so many things
I might not be supposed
to understand.
Feeling around in a dark
that I never knew could be so frightening
as I add up all the losses.
And right on time, here comes Mick.
Singing, Come on,
and it sounds like, “Come home.”
Because it’s what I want to hear, even shout.
As the route takes me by your Dad’s —
I still glance over
as if checking up on my own.
Guess I’m waitin’ on your call
after all.
© Julia R. DeStefano
