Fracture Story
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It was a beautiful place, horizon on all sides
like diner mirrors. I sped
toward its limit and hit the asphalt hard. My arm
in the X-ray glowed like a jellyfish at night
and I wanted to slip into its ocean and go
totally numb. I wanted
to fix what I’d done, but the doctor said
Stay patient, massaging my plaster
with soap. On the radio they spoke
about a meteor shower, so we spread old
towels in the darkest back yard. While we waited
someone laid out an endless riddle
about albatrosses. Cannibalism was the answer.
Inside me, minerals were mending themselves,
sending collagen threads across
the bad chasm I’d made. From behind a wide cloud slid
stars like flecks of bone, old and glowing.
They held their breaths. When one dashed
across the black, I think I gasped
admiring the platonic plummet: it left
no fallen body. No broken heft.
In the morning I got up and walked
to the laundromat. Mountains ran
a cardiogram across the sky. Inside
two parts of me were reaching
toward each other—something I’d felt
before, but more in the mind. I started
to forgive myself. It
was a physical place. Hard
to be lonely carrying that slow embrace.
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June 27, 2022 at 09:33PM
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“Fracture Story,” by Nell Wright - The New Yorker
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