I am an umbrella.
The cold rain has soaked my hair and
I can hear thunder in the distance.
I see the lightening strike the maple
Trees of Connecticut and
I can taste the garlic from my lunch,
Still on my tongue,
Three hours later.
My brain is fuzzing.  The smell
Of gasoline permeates my nostrils
Like fresh baked cookies.

And I remember.
The car flipping, taillights over headlights.
Me in the front seat.  We landed
In the ravine and sunk to the bottom
And here I am.

I walk across the busy highway
And reach the divider where
I find them.
I reach for the flowers and
They smell like rainbows.
Blythe, a moldy card reads,
Take care in the afterlife.
I place another next to it
From me that reads,
You will be sorely missed
Hasta luego.

I walk back across the highway
Headlights staring into my eyes
And open the front door of my car
To drive away.  Moving on
Makes the pain go away and
If you forget, no one remembers
But I will until you come home.