The Accident

Ellen Zhang ‘19

Time wobbles a little, a top 

in motion before spillage. 

Voices grinding between bone, 

parting into new land. Everything

shifts suddenly like spatial 

jolting or flashing of aftermath 

even before impact. 

Leave the yellow tape, chalk markings

so bold, flimsy gray tarp, settling flakes. 

Are you okay? Warmth stirs from 

the radiator. You will be okay?

Two hours later, you are okay. '

When dusk tightens, sinking, 

the metronome of normality 

resyncs. As remembered or

envisioned or hoped. Traffic 

shimmers. Snow into slush into

wet socks into numb damp toes.

Street lights begin to halo.