Shattered

 

Shattered

 

we’d been going out

then a wrinkle

decided to stop

see other people

 

out of town

the call came

 

“there’s been an accident,”

she said,

“a freak accident that

made the Atlanta news

we need to take food”

 

a car crashed

through Mojo’s restaurant window

where you’d been sitting

your parents holding hands

across the table

 

pinning them

underneath

shattered glass

everywhere

 

miraculously you lived

no one understood how –

that’s the nature of a

triple miracle

 

so we made a raisin-glazed ham

and scalloped pineapple

delivered it to

the Funny Farm

where you were

helping your folks and

recovering too

 

from the kitchen

I caught a glimpse

of you

in the recliner

your face and hands

cut, bandaged

avoiding my gaze

as you sat alone

 

my heart skipped a beat

I saw a different you

a vulnerable you

who’d shown

heroic courage

in sifting through

shards of shattered glass

to save others

 

not the showoff trickster motorcycle rider

not the competitive race car driver

not the fast talker with orange PowerAde staining your lips

              as you talked on a concrete picnic bench

 

I saw you –

knew I was in love with you

but was too scared

of another broken heart

to unleave

 

how does anyone unleave, anyway?

not all pieces are as easily picked up

as shattered glass

 

I could at least

ask how you were feeling

no risk there

 

so I texted,

“wanna talk?”

 

expecting to wait days

for the response

that came

immediately

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