Tuesday, January 13, 2015

The Accident

Tears congregate

as I hear your voice turn

from now to another scene (of  bricks and river)

you call  down by the factory

where you're locked in.


You call the cast bracing

 your broken wrist, this new change, piecework

that lies heavy and limits

your ability to eat

or steer the steel walker


they once allowed. I cry Mom

and there is no response.

I pronounce Mari' an

stressing  the Mary in your name,


beseeching the girl

who birthed a king in a limestone cave

to lift this veil between us.


You  lean toward me

and whisper, I've a daughter

who lives in a house near trees.


She can turn the brass doorknob

without being watched.

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