Articles Of Faith Poem by Pamela Spiro Wagner

Black ice. An accident's chain-
reaction crumples 28 cars one by one.
Forgetting the latest advisory
you steer into our skid
on the frictionless slick
missing collision
by the merest sleet needle.
It's night, your panicked face
glows dashboard green
licked with gold as we pass
streetlights in review. God, you say,
must be watching out
for us, meaning you and me
and this old ‘92 Chevy
still too good to let go.
But I remind you about the cars
accordioned in the whiplash of impact.
Was God not watching out for them
or worse, deliberate in his neglect?
Still, this is not a theological poem
and I'm just a nonbeliever
whistling her fear into the void,
I know nothing
is guaranteed save that none
of us will survive our lives.
The wreckage behind us,
we're wowed breathless by the nearness
of our miss and though there's still
the matter of the crushed 28
I am appalled into gratitude.
You drive on as our heartbeats slowly steady
and I thoughtlessly thank god
to still my shaking hands.