Highway 49

The ashes of her youth
floated like prayers across the campus.
She was driving home Saturday when the truck hit her.
The last thing she saw—-an 18 wheeler, t-boned, against the driver's side.
Her scripture cards scattered across the highway
recitations that once occupied her mind--
Psalms in one lane, Proverbs in the other.
She was flown through the ring of glass
and collided with the greedy pavement;
her hair framing her forehead like a bloodthirsty halo.
The wind screamed that night
and the stars weeped in silence
as a bold and willing future was laid to rest.

[This was a class favorite of my final project. Hm. I would've picked a different one.]