Aftermath Of a Crash

When was the crash anyhow?

They tell me it was yesterday.

But when was yesterday?

All I know is that I wake to a silence

as serene as a snowfield.

Except my body’s not quiet.

But aches have no sound…

unless you count the clench of my teeth.

Yes, my eyes are open.

A nurse listens to me breathe.

I peer under the sheets.

Some of my body appears to be packaged

in white bandages.

But not for shipping.

I have a feeling I’ll be here a while.

And I’m thinking,

how slippery was the road last night.

And what is it about a ditch

that on a late winter night

they’re as seductive as the Lorelei.

Only without the singing.

I wonder about my car.

I look over at the next bed

as if expecting to see its crumpled body

attended to by a nurse of its own.

But the bed is empty.

The doctor comes by.

“You were lucky,” he says.

But it’s a known fact

that nobody who’s told they were lucky

ever feels lucky.

In fact, above all else,

I feel both stupid and sore.

No doctor ever tells me that.

Outside, morning rises over

over the parking lot,

over the malls,

over whatever remains of my car.

I breathe some more.

The nurse nods, as if breath

were a kind of tribute

to my determination and her skills.

Somewhere the road continues,

headed for who knows where.

But here, in this narrow bed,

I feel the world loosening its grip.

Maybe it’s just me.

I’m all caught up on movement.

Now I’m learning how to stay.

by John Grey