Paser Detail. Memphis. 2013. Paser (photo credit: Karen B. Golightly)
The sound of glass shattering
then a blue shine far off, then nothing.
Then it was over.
When it opened and I was out
there was earth on my cheek
and air in my lungs.
Where I had gone was forever taken from me.
I was a child again unknowing
helpless to stem the blood of life.
I was lifted and bathed
by strangers who looked through me without blinking.
Words would come from the murmur.
I could not say how it was.
Then it was black.
I slept again in the arms of my dead mother.
When I woke, there was birdsong
a few low shrubs
and something called sky.