Abreaction
They went too fast that fateful day
The car sped over clay and rocks
I saw her pray beneath the wreck
and pick glass from his neck. Sliver
shards , bloody specs like ladybugs
mixed with tears and hugs spackled
the tire’s lugs. Beneath the crush
a soft moaning, a flush of air, and then
the siren’s rush above the spill
the penetrating chill of fear,
certain thrill from death’s allure-
a gruesome guided tour of circumstance
like some poor pilgrim’s first sighting
of a scalping, bone-biting fear,
transparent lighting that reveals
oneself in dark that heals panic
against turning wheels of self-doubt,
glad when able to shout, It’s
not me!. It’s about the living-
alive, among the dead and dying.
No comments:
Post a Comment