Today, I’m feeling less like a ghost.
When I rolled my car on the freeway;
with my hands on the wheel and my heart
sitting in the passenger seat.
that night, we didn’t die in the hands of a machine-
the crushed metal didn’t engulf us
into a well oiled esophagus;
instead, we walked away.
The morning after the accident,
my girlfriend wakes up crying
from the pain of sutures on two fingers.
we havent slept enough without feeling
Somewhere in that crash, I thought
I’d left my body
still suspended upside down.
Hopefully they can get my baby out
but I might have stopped breathing.
how are we alive?
We weren’t supposed to walk away from this.
My mother told me:
a few days before
she had doused my car in the holy water
she received from a monk.
We had prayers guiding us;
I felt my ancestors.
I knew we’d be safe.
I keep replaying alternate endings.
my body reacts to them
the way fingers do to a hot plate.
my stomach drops, and the other organs
rearrange themselves accordingly.
When i’m out in the world,
I feel my interactions with people
in third person.
my hands are fading like a time traveler
watching their birth go wrong.
all things could have gone wrong.
so how am i not a ghost?