Tibia and Fibula

Sitting at the top of a bouncy slide,

the bottom looming before me;


bouncing over the top, I flew fast like

a hummingbird, only stopping

with a crack, a whirlwind of pain;


the lost relay race, a memory turned gray;

my mind fixed on my foot hanging

crooked like an old picture frame;


life had changed in a snap

of bones and tendons,

and though they would heal,


a mark engraved is permanent as

the stars in the sky. I sit alone

tracing the pale lines sewn


anew years ago; an injury

healed but still searing.



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