Like falling in love, Uncle says. 
Steer into the skid, not away. 
Feather touch on the wheel.
Bridges freeze first but—Sammy frowns—
one time near the Snake River
hidden ice not playing nice
sent his old pickup skating
so he steered into the slide, pumped brakes
and stopped plumb at the canyon’s edge.

Not far behind him 
an AmeriGas delivery truck.

Even in a blizzard you can foresee future,
headlights through a veil of swirling flakes 
so he bails from the old Ford face-first 
into a snowbank just before a 16 ton tank 
of liquified petroleum gas 
like a giant hockey puck 
plows through the pickup
down toward the Snake. 

The cab submerges. Bubbles.

Soft the silence, 
snow falling in sheets—

and a woman appears 
clawing up the embankment
spitting curses
ejected halfway down
fractured arm but she can climb.

She’s a blue-black ponytail, 
a white parka, red blood dripping,
she’s an eagle with broken wing.

Says she’s gonna sue somebody’s ass 
sure as her name is Sacajawea Jones and then 
go home to Louisiana where it’s warm 
and purchase land down there. 

Aunt Sac. Why her crooked arm. 
Already on the black ice
Uncle Sammy’s in love.