Stained
On this still night, no car is coming or going,
There is only a woman standing on the
Uneven shoulder of this back road. Larger swells
Of air are tempting to lift her from the spot.
She can only imagine the sound of the impact,
Metal crushing his weaker metal. The exclamations
Of drivers muffled by highly pressurized air.
As he stood and fell, walked and crawled away from
The twisted remnants of his car, past the faded white line,
What was foremost on his blood-filled mind?
Did he cry out for a miracle as his heart drained into
The asphalt? Of her
waking to the ringing of the phone
In the dark? Of the
children pulling at the ties around their throats?
She will never know.
So here she kneels down,
Running her fingers across the dark red stain;
The sound of her sobs unheard
In the dark expanse all around her.
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