The Car Crash

That time, playing in the muck,
foot emerging without boot,
hopping and laughing
all the way home.

Then, later, on the bus
that car hitting where we sat
the windshield cracking
like a giant spider
blood all over the dead lady’s face.

I thought I’d made it
when my new car had a sunroof
kids riding along, music blaring

But trauma is a spider
Arachne reaching into happy places
and as much as I speed up to avoid her

Fight to disable her attack
she weaves herself new limbs
begins the onslaught anew

And I am stuck in the mud again
no longer limber enough
to dance my way home in the rain.

The Pawn

Of course she is away
caught in the schism
of her parents’ divorce
played like a pawn

She is emotionally numb
incapable of articulating
wants and desires – broken
though no one notices.

(Poem originally appeared on Twitter.  Visit me @Vjknutson.  Image from personal collection.)