Fluorescent corridors, ghost-
girl in hospital gown,
braces on legs and ankles. Pale eyes
as if she got here
falling down stairs till there was nothing
left of bones.
You’re worried about your ankle,
and here’s a girl so sadly
beautiful, she begs for rhyme. Seizures,
she says. Like falling from a high-
rise helispot. She’ll miss
her best friend’s wedding. Seized
like trying for flight.
Bones too brittle-thin,
lovely as a bird shot down.
They’ll x-ray your ankle.
We’ll walk out in late spring
daylight, drive familiar streets,
the freeway, country roads haunted
by a ghost, back home.