No Helmet

Today I follow the gentle curves downhill

my pace involuntarily rapid as the grade steepens

I pass the traffic-calming circle planted with

a small tree and flowers, past the stop sign, forward

There I find the place where you must have

clipped the curb with your bicycle wheel

having sped down this hill in the warming weather

where you must have tried to right yourself and failed

We see your body fly lightly off the scant frame

from a block away you look like a stick figure sailing

briefly airborne you fly and land in the street

and do not move – that eerie stillness that is silent

We hurry and kneel by your brokenness

relieved to see your breath through the blood

miniature crimson droplets on the stubble of your face

vibrating beneath each labored breath

My hand firmly centered on your chest as a tether

I speak a beacon of words to follow through the darkness

while help speeds its way, I press a towel to your dripping forehead

safeguarding your mind, your thoughts, and ideas of a future.

Your awakening to the moment begins with a groan and stir,

the terrible clicking and burbling of your mouth, your tongue

pushing the remnants of fragmented teeth through your lips

I hold my hand open to catch them, telling you help is on the way.

You try to reach up to touch your head, and I hold your hand

telling you: squeeze when it hurts, but don’t touch, don’t move yet,

I bet it hurts, you must stay still, listen! can you hear the sirens?

they’re almost here. you will be alright. stay here with me, ok?

And so they come. And I am asked to stand back with my handful of teeth.

And they ask you your name – Jose – and they ask you:

what city are we in? what month is it? is Mickey Mouse a dog or a cat?

and [offensively] how much have you had to drink today?

I hear your answers among the clinking of teeth,

glad you can answer at all, getting most of the answers right.

And they take you away. And they take your shattered teeth from me.

And they hand me some towelettes to wipe my hands clean of you.

But I am a mother too and I have secured you to this earth

I have waded through your blood to find your breath

held your shattered teeth in my bare hand, spoken gently to you

as to any child who is hurt and needs someone. 

Andrine de la Rocha

May 13, 2012

posted 5/15/2012