For the Man I Saw Die Yesterday

I’m sorry sending the angels was all I could do

as I knelt in the glass and mud.

Spring won’t come this year.

I didn’t see you until you almost

hit the back corner of my car, almost

took me with you, rolling, scraping, across concrete,

flipping, air dirt air dirt, glass, metal, tree –

almost –

I already knew before my car came to rest on the edge.

Smoke began to rise from your truck, and it was all

so close

so close you were to me, to the tree, to right side up and upside down,

to where you were going,

so close.  I asked them to be with you,

the angels,

when the other voices yelled, “Step back!”

And today what’s left of your almost –

a tire with a white cross and flowers,

but still,

an angel,

so close.

Advertisement