By Sarah Fowles
But honey it’s like the time I shattered my
foot. I chased my brother around the corner
of a strip mall movie theater intending to
pummel him in the parking lot. After
turning the corner I descended dark stairs,
did not see him and there I was,
awkwardly wedged in a concrete corner with
a broken foot. I do not remember the
misjudged step, falling sideways or face
forward, or which part of me hit bottom
first. I was there, it was my body, but I was
flying (and since I cannot fly, my mind
compensated for the miracle by forgetting)
until I came to, jerked myself upright, and
ascended the stairs, little painful red flowers
blooming at every step.
