Blood On The Pavement
To the kids in the car:
I don't know you, but I've seen you vulnerable.
I've seen your bones, blood and tears.
I'm sorry that your never gonna stop being kids, even though you're older than me now, you live in my memory. And you're always going to be high schoolers.
I want you to know that you're not forgotten.
You still come up in conversation, I still think about you late at night.
I'm sorry that on that day I became the scythe, accompanying death.
I'm sorry that my mom became the ghost that you'll never forget.
She ran into one of you at the store and she came home to report that you still walk with a limp.
She fixed that leg once, on the side of a road.
And I can't remember where I was.
Maybe I was kept in the car, maybe I was holding your hand.
Sometimes I wonder if you would recognize me, if I still carry the blood on my hands even though I can't see it.
Sometimes I wonder why.
Why you couldn't wait just a little longer to get to school.
I'm sorry we weren't going fast enough for you.
I'm sorry I haven't written about you before.
Like you're an unspoken thought in the back of my head, an unknown disaster.
To the kids in the car:
I'm sorry for the blood on the pavement, and the little girl who probably only stared.
I'm sorry for the airbags that didn't do their job.
I'm sorry for the other one. The driver who had a wife and kids and my mom tried her best I swear.
I'm sorry because I hope I never have to know what its like to kill your friends.