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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