It was not the walk in the park,
where you lined a path with candles
and your best friend hid in the bushes
and you opened a box,
that shifted my life line.
It was what happened after,
in the evening our day,
with all its enchanted
asking and answering,
could not have written.
You called everyone on your side,
and I called my one, and then you
took the camera from Tray
and sent him on his way.
You climbed in your car,
I climbed in mine,
and I followed you
back toward home.
So I watched it happen,
saw the way the light
flashed white and then red
and then inky black
and hard around the edges,
just like the night my father
stopped breathing.
I heard the metal on metal
and I saw the pieces,
and I knew there was
no way you survived.
Still I slammed the brakes
and slid from the road
and jumped out while the car moved,
and I raced to that wreckage
on legs that shouted it for me.
Please be alive.
Please be alive.
Please be alive.
Tray beat me to you,
and he was crying.
Tray was crying.
I had never, ever, ever
seen him cry.
I’m sorry, Maggie.
I’m so sorry.
Over and over
and over again,
like your crash
was somehow
his doing.
There you were,
pinned under steel.
Blood leaked everywhere,
in the creases between
my fingers holding yours
and in a scarlet flood
across my shirt, where
your head rested,
and down a roadside drain.
But I didn’t care that I was
stained by you, because
you were my angel,
my darling,
my beloved,
and I could not
leave you while
your eyes still
held life.
And then you fell asleep
and those sirens screamed
and they pushed me aside.
Flashing lights carried
you away from me,
but a siren still screamed,
long and loud and lamenting.
You fell asleep.
You fell asleep.
You fell asleep,
and I do not know
if you will ever
wake.
This is an excerpt from The Lovely After. Visit my Reader Library page, where you can get it and a couple of volumes for free.
