Peripheral Vision

I realized, a broken windshield too late,

the poignancy of my situation: as I picked

the broken glass out of my hair, I paused

to consider, how moments before impact

I was staring at the water droplets collected

on my side window, wondering if I could really

balance one on top of a pin; just how long

it would sit there before bursting. I watched

that one drop shatter into a hundred more

as they danced around my head. Ah! I was

an astronaut, just before the black, floating

against all comprehension, trusting twisted

metal to keep me intact.


When I awoke, I still felt nothing;

blind terror is a monster too massive

to comprehend, we must look to its sides,

tunneling deep into obscurity: swallowing

it to lock in subconscious dungeons requires

a precise concentration; you must succeed

in blocking out all but the minutest, most

irrelevant, details and blowing them up until they

can block out something the size of the sun.


The petals

caught the wind,

drifted slowly

and came

to rest

atop my Mother’s

wooden box;

I wondered,


how long

they could

possibly keep

under so

much dirt.

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