A Body Pulled From the Wreckage

She is lying prone, & from her position
the sun is a marble dome, the ground a seepage
of water bottles, intended to aid her health.

The doctor told her to moisturize herself, but no soda,
although now, who can be sure if it matters.
The car upside down, the windows crystal webbings,
the time she needed to think, right here,
beneath the bright sky in a dirt ditch.

It has been a long wreck, not just the one today
where she hydroplaned from her rural route;
it was always much the same, the bang ups
of her traveling, even the caramel candy
she choked on when she was young and turned blue,
her mother's face stretched wide, screaming,
“open your mouth”; what could she do, but vomit
all that sweetness across her new shoes.

Later, when she tried love, or love tried her,
she could taste how sweet things turned sour,
how good things could change in a moment;

but right now is a special day, and she is on her way
to a new town, which is only three miles away.
Now she will be announced without grace into
the new community, in an ambulance,
her eyes wide on morphine or whatever drug
they just gave her, and she is thinking
of the antique chest splintered in the highway.
It belonged to her mother & meant something

not too clear now in her memory, not with bruises
pounding on her body, not while being lifted into
an ambulance. Why did she take a chance passing
that slowed up van, and why,

has she become a passenger on this long trip,
primed for starting over, a blank page opening
to a new way of living, without pain or breakage?
Not this frightened body, pulled from the wreckage.

 

 

Reviews

[deeps]

Such a strong piece I like it alot

[Emily B]

it seems to me your voice is growing by leaps and bounds

[Robin]

what a intriguing piece , how you weave the nudge of change into a shove ..

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

WOW... what a roller coaster ride... your words so brilliant display just how life is like a New York minute so enjoy every second you can.

[Ed Hart]

wherever you look, poetry...your pen is a camera that sees into the dimensions, and tells 'the rest of the story'