i have tasted air bag,  it’s a badge of honor, a one-way ticket to epiphany,  it tastes like burnt rubber, like powdery words sucked dry by the heat of a crash, it tastes like my last words, it tastes like my first ones,  it tastes like winter,  it is the eyes of a deer in my headlights, i have tasted air bag,  in my dreams i hover above, watch myself turn the wheel, watch the car spin, the air bag deploy, air bag is a hot taste like the moment before impact when you remember the powdery sand on your tongue the day your daughter dragged you, truculent, begrudging, into deeper, colder water, where you frowned and she tried to teach you joy, i remembered clouds, i remembered cutting carrots, cocoa burning on my lip, it’s the moment you can taste, the one you’ll never forget, a taste of doubt about such an oversized, industrial dump truck and you, a small, crushable thing darting in front of it, doubt that you know yourself, doubt that the one who took the left was a part of you, a self-loathing hypocrite, dormant, precise, the truth is, it was not a choice, but it could have been and the officer who came to the hospital after i was  left in the hall like a mouth-hanging, toothless half-dead permanent resident, knew that, and he came to question me, to be convinced, he came as an omen, an alarm bell, a skeptical voice from the outside asking something i never would have thought of,  let’s just say if i could do it again, i wouldn’t have turned left, i would have waited for my turn, gone on my way, continued to live on the addicted verge of saying yes or saying goodbye, i would have stayed home, gotten drunk, anything but turned left, let’s just say or ask: who chooses to realize that kind of pain? not the skin cutting, bone breaking pain but the taking that look at where you never got wheel spinning nowhere, and to think, if it were true, i actually stole the conscious moment from myself, the head in the oven, the slit wrists,  i have tasted air bag, it is distant and close, it’s a threshold, it’s a rite of passage, the heat of it steals away your innocence, it’s the writing on the wall, air bag tastes like blood, hot and salty on your tongue, it tastes like death, it tastes like life, i always say that i am lucky when i experience something nobody else gets to, that’s true, even now i feel lucky but unlucky because air bag is something you wish you had never tasted—like war or the knowledge that life is just keeping going 

Bravo, Jill. This is superb. I'll certainly look forward to seeing more of your work.

Hi Jill

Welcome to poetrycircle, hope you stick around. You're a sparkler above my Baltic. Great to see! Thank you for sharing the "Air Bag" piece with us.

Ciao

dr

Much enjoyed! WELCOME!

Thanks Jay, Dr and Lavonne. Thanks for the encouraging remarks and mostly thanks for this site. It feels good to read such good stuff online!

It sure does. That's why the site was started: there was just so much horrible stuff out there being passed off as poetry.

I too like the stream of this. Nice work.

larry

A couple of tiny nits in the last few lines (rite of passage/tastes like death/life - these feel unnecessary - to me at least). But I am picking - overall it's a great read. Thoroughly enjoyed.

Welcome, looking forward to more.

B.

Actually, I appreciate the feedback. 
"...i have tasted air bag, it is distant, it is close, it’s the writing on the wall, air bag tastes like blood, hot and salty on your tongue, i always say that i am lucky when i experience something nobody else gets to, that’s true, even now i feel lucky but unlucky because air bag is something you wish you had never tasted—like war or the knowledge that life is just keeping going"
I have taken out a few pieces in here.
Thanks, Brian.

Reads better to me now Jill. Though I did like threshold in the earlier version.
Really though, this is a fine poem and I wouldn't pick at it too much. No-one else seems to have taken issue with the things I pointed out so it could just be me - often the case!

B.

Horrified that I appear dilatory in commenting on this. In fact, I had, but having composed it apparently failed to submit it. Anyways, I echoed Jay's comment. It has a wonderful flow to it that seems so effortless but can only be achieved by fine craftmanship. Great that you have joined us, Jill.

Cheers

milner

Dear Jill

It is a pleasure to become acquainted with your pen
and it asks to hear you reading it as well.

a warm smile of welcome
silent lotus

Thank you, Silent, and everyone for your comments. It means a lot! Now, for the sequel... oxygen mask  :)

VERY fine!

Rick

Jill -- I arrive at this one very late!  months late!  But oh so pleased to have found  . . . ditto all the praise above.

lynn

Lynn,
Thank you so much. The best message I have gotten all day. (In the middle of a family crisis--literally--so have been away a couple of days, but I'll be back.)
Jill

Congratulations Jill!

Hey, Jill. Great to read "Air Bag"--quite an experience (the reading)--and to see your name in neon up there on our marquee! ~Tom

The first time I read this poem I thought - definite future Front Page piece.
And your first ever post if I remember right Jill. . . ?
Excellent poem, it thoroughly deserves this recognition. Good Pick Chicky.

B.

Wow! Thanks guys. Seeing this here. Thank you.

Excellent read, Jill. Great choice on the form; it all works so well. Kudos!

Jill -

Let me add my enjoyment at the opportunity to reread this one!

Excellent addition to the front page....xo Michelle