FRACTURE
The last flake falls
snow crystals become ice.
She walks to the mailbox.
A stumble, twist — avalanche
of soft bone slips, her fall gathers
speed, takes her down.
She crawls up the steps, rests
on the kitchen floor.
Blue sky becomes
hospital-white.
Like the greening of a scarred
hillside, callus formation
fills the nailed gap.
She shoves the walker
forward, the distance
from bed to hall
a bouldered slope.
Twice a day, she maneuvers the walker
around imaginary rocks, climbing stairs
to an imaginary peak.
Now she’s home. Sits to brush
her teeth, spits in that little pan
from the hospital.
And Dad. He can barely walk 10 feet,
sits to fry an egg, wash the dishes.
He hasn’t thought about how Mom
will get in the tub with a casted leg,
wipe after using the toilet.
Hasn’t thought
how they will out run
this avalanche.
riverSedge
