Life is Fragile

by Kristie Kelso Rothstein

I got in a car accident yesterday. The memory of it still startles me.
My car hits one car, then the next car hits another, and so on
and so on in heavy afternoon traffic.
My heavy, burdensome, too expensive,
sage-green soccer-mom minivan slams right into a tiny little Toyota
something or other and there is no scratch to be found.

I cringe upon
seeing a mother exit the car with
her month-old baby in a car seat facing the back (correctly), yet
in the front seat.
The baby is smiling.
The mother is not.

I am bleeding on the inside because I know that were someone to carelessly hit
me with children in the car,
I would either explode with rage or slide to the pavement in tears.

The mother calms and the woman in the front car emerges
three women, one baby and no one is hurt
the woman in the front car points out the miniscule scratch on her Hyundai
and is concerned that "no one please call police."

We quickly exchange numbers with shaky handwriting.
Other than rattled spirits, we are all seemingly okay on the surface.

I return to my car, everything in it now thrown to the front,
a soda can, my laptop, my oldest daughter's backpack.
I look up and my eyes are sewn shut for a moment.
I see nothing, I only remember the sound and feel of the last and first car accident I was in,
my car upside down
and the sound of the Indigo Girls revolving in my ears
"How long till my soul gets it right?"...then my mind flashes
to the ice blue eyes of my brother after he flew
through the glass in the fatal car accident which took him from me.

I open my eyes and the sun is blinding.
A man knocks on my window
"Move your car lady. The whole block is at a standstill!"

Yeah, whatever, I think
my mind and body are still in shock.
I look to the car ahead, woman with baby still in the front seat,
baby smiling and mother frantically talking on her cell phone.
I gaze at her license plate and it reads, quite faded, around the rim
"Life is Fragile."

My eyes follow these words as they drift off in the distance
and thirty cars behind me honk
until I finally move onto the freeway.

The Author

Kristie Kelso Rothstein is a mother of two, a wife, daughter and woman navigating her way through life's obstacles and joys. She can be reached for comment at: wisepoet@sbcglobal.net.