The voice of the sweet woman who came
\nfrom across the road, telling me
\nyou were sitting right beside her,
\nthen handing you her cell phone.<\/p>\n
My panic as I searched for you
\nin the dark afterward, rounding the turn
\nyou missed to discover the blue
\nhysterics of the police lights.<\/p>\n
The ambulance’s room, oddly quiet,
\nwhere you looked up under blankets
\nto assure me you were fine, though
\nyou had never seemed so fragile.<\/p>\n
The forgotten kitchen chair I passed
\non the way back to my car
\nto follow you, which the woman
\nmust have carried to the road’s edge<\/p>\n
so you could sit with the phone,
\nasking my name over and over,
\nas if you couldn’t believe
\nit belonged to you.\n
Follow McNair’s thinking about this poem through his revisions of it. (Line changes are highlighted in yellow; revised line breaks are indicated by yellow verticals.)<\/span><\/p> <\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\t\t