11 fevereiro, 2022

Palavras lidas #504

“Neck Broken, Resourceful Cyclist Walks to Emergency Room”

—from a news bulletin
by Carolyne Wright

Too late the bus slammed on its brakes—the rider
thrown over her mangled handlebars, against
the bus grille’s bent metallic grimace. Her neck’s
seventh vertebra ruptured, the woman gripped her
head between her palms, and stood, and walked
to the ER, a block away—noon darkness aglow
with the accident’s split-second flash: to let go
would kick the stool out from under the noose-necked
prisoner. “But I wanted to live,” she told
reporters later. “I didn’t dare to break
that wishbone with myself.” How else to command
each cell hold its balance—inner fire cold
as knowing Her own life: could she ever again take
it so—completely—in her hands?

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