There is a sweet spot

where you are supposed to sit 

as the driver of a car – too close

and the airbag will break your nose

as it’s inflating, ricocheting bone into 

the brain – I think about this

when I fall in love. That I should stay 

at least ten inches away – close enough to

steer, but far enough to let the airbag

open all the way. Once, I got too close

and in the collision the airbag poured

from the steering wheel, ripping my 

hands away and smashing me 

backwards into the seat

away from the crunch of bumper and 

what I am trying to say is that God doesn’t tell 

you that if you baptize yourself to hard

you will implode on impact but the woman 

who flung herself off the Golden 

Gate knows and what is

there in this world but whiplash

endings and finding yourself 

too close? Isn’t it safer to hold yourself 

ten inches back? 

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By AJ Donley

AJ holds her bachelor’s degree in English and her master’s degree in forensic psychology and thus is unduly obsessed with the intersections of the horrors of living and the beauty of words – or perhaps it is the beauty of living and the horrors of words. She is a queer Midwestern woman whose work has previously been featured in journals such as West Trade Review, Riverfeet Press, Subnivean, Juxtaprose, Writers Resist, and Phoenix Rising Review. You can find her on Instagram at @ajtrieswriting.