Two Poems by Blaisewell



4:36 PM

they were off in the distance
but in pairs,
four, et al
cotton stretchers in hand
descending into the ditch

they had capes draped upon their backs
Lead like
Nobody else saw those capes
but I did
their backs
that weight
it’s part of their uniform
they wore those capes like badges
amidst the red and
blue and
white and

were superheroes
all six of them

“…And I’ve walked down life’s lonely highways,
Hand in hand with myself
And only now do I see
How many paths
have crossed betw-”

i hit the button
only the engine
and “the smell” remained

“the smell” consisted of burned charge powder,
engine oil,
and freshly baked bread
all amalgamated together
to form a stark
poignant contrast
to the feelings of confusion
and helplessness
residing amongst the cold evening air
the white deflated plastic caught my eye in contrast
against the monotonous western horizon
the white contrasted, too,
against the beige tan interior
of the mangled maroon van
facing directly at me

what remained of it?

a family
dreams and all

a ford windstar
mid 2000’s
3.8 liters of displacement
six cylinders
“Big Sky Country” graced the license plate
the front half was intact
the other half wasn’t found
was in the mess of parts
strewn about the ditch and wayside
parallel to me

also likely,
spun out of control while switching lanes

on the opposing shoulder
was a mack truck
its grill, bloodied from the impact
its driver
sobbing and screaming

the score of mother nature
the whipping wind
it blew sternly
yet cold across the open fields surrounding everyone
the grain offered no resistance to the wind
it flew opposite from the accident
away from it all
directing my car onwards in the wind and grains direction

amidst the chaos
the stars aligned
one passenger
the youngest
was gasping for air
the paramedics took him out of the field
with his scarred booster seat
to safety

the gods tears started to trickle down off their faces
out of the clouds
they fell down
tapping on the roof of my car
the gods silently hoped that the
pitter patter / pitter patter
would drown out the wailing of the sirens
and the cries of the youngest

it didn’t

falling in unison with the dice
cast forth from the cup
connected at the hip
to nothing but a belt
of webbed, tied, reinforced polyester
was the mother
she faced forward
i could see her face
she was unconscious
a bloody nose the worst of her physical injuries
but where her children once would sit on her lap
windshield glass and hair from the father
instead took their place

the calloused skin cast across the asphault
and the concrete
and the gravel
the disturbed earth
and blood
belonged to a child

she was no where to be found
the wheat in the ditch was dyed red from the impact
i didn’t see her
just a piece of pink fabric from her shirt
lying in the ditch

next to a man
he layed facing downward
nine feet away or so from the fabric of his daughters shirt
in the ditch
his daughters blood
and some of his own
sat still, penetrating
dying the tattered remnants
of his white button up shirt
to a dark red

the ditch would be his final resting place
he’d be with his daughter soon

she was waiting for them the whole time
for mommy and daddy and her brother
all to follow her
to go wherever she had went

but to her dismay, they couldn’t come
the paramedics got to them before god did

as the ambulances worked
the people in the opposite lane
passed by the sirens
and the wreck
without a second thought
the spectators behind me
they drove on
they became intoxicated with today’s reminder
of a tomorrow
unavailable and unintroduced
to unlikely people
and they,
got drunk off being able to experience
what the daughter
and in time, the family
couldn’t ever hope to have again

“another one” they shouted
another 24 hours of normalcy
amidst the silence
and crying
was silent rejoicing
amongst the ruins
they rejoiced

Blaisewell on Twitter

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