Say the headlights don’t shine
through the grain
spun, say that she only clipped
the hay bale when she barreled
down the road. A life is still a life at eighty
miles an hour, so say
that the wheel turned, say you’ve seen her out there pitching
a fit, prick her bare feet black earth, say
she raised her hands in the air cracking
the band bigger than the radio.
Say she clambered out of it.
Say she became something else.
A better animal.
Say she’s not better off
dead than lost, eyes like black eggs, say you saw her rise
a pistol when she’s angry.
Say she won’t surrenderhere.
Say if she does, you won’tblame her.