Witness

I did not see the accident
but there was the body on the ground.

My hand flew up to my heart.
And here, at the use of this cliché,

I ask us to see a small bird
in spring flying up from the ground

to a safer perch higher up.
He was motionless, and people stood

beside him, waiting, as if to protect him
from further harm.

Two cars had pulled over
and parked in a driveway on the corner

seldom used since that business closed,
where students used to eat pancakes

in the middle of the night
if they wanted, in the carefree past…

Was the past ever carefree?
They had been studying hard or pulling

a nighter to finish a late paper,
or they had just fallen in love with love.

All the students who had passed
this corner. Now this one down, unknowing.

The vehicles came, the men in bright
jackets, to lift him gently

into the mouth of safety.
I know it sounds like he is being eaten

by the Great Unknown, a possible monster,
but let’s see the ambulance

as the blessed vessel it is, taking
him to gentle care, where he will be restored.

Police had walked over
to the witnesses, beside one of the parked

cars—though one had already driven away—
and I, too, began my departure,

having seen nothing at all to help them,
only waited till the boy was safe

in my mind, a nest, ragged but tightly woven,
nestled (the word is the thing itself)

away from danger, safe from wind and rain,
predators, and sudden snow.

— Babs