Challenging Poetry

black ice

without thought,
I grabbed the door
and held on as the wheels slid,
forward motion suddenly
an impossible arc that felt as
though the car would roll
(it didn't ever like curves)
ending in the median, facing an
empty predawn road,
and we breathed again
and held on tighter
because we shouldn't be
able to flip the car back around
into our lane and continue on
our way, no crash,
no injury,
just nervous laughter
and a new fear of the road.