Vehicle of Suicide

Each stranded tree is so solitary, so alone,

I long to join it, aim for its

arm-like branches,

imagining obliteration.

But at that instant of decision, I remember

the corpse of some child’s beloved dog

or a wounded pedestrian, pale and blanketed on the sidewalk.

I remember my shock at exploding windshield,

my blood on the front seat,

my ceaseless trembling.

I am afraid of not dying, this time,

and beg myself to follow the gray stream north,

terrified of my own sabotage.


[© Barbara Burt; unpublished]