AUNT BARBARA
BY ADAM TAVEL

I died a virgin.
My driver's seat came off its rails
and smashed like putty
into the trunk of my car.

The boy that hit me
was so trashed he didn't realize
I was gone until he saw the slow
stretcher shuffle of EMTs.

At my funeral my sisters stood
in a Bolshevik breadline
and kissed my face
soft as eiderdown.

Pieced together
I almost looked whole.
My diploma rests with mothballs
in my mother's attic.