The Car Wreck

His mother, in her own seamless flash footage, head shaved gingerly, bare tiger slash. Oxygen tank tube mask, oxygen itself pressing a skeletal finger to pursed lips. She lay unconscious three days midwinter fields, no footprint among flint bones and bristly essex clay lumps. Unconscious, juliet continues then, awake, but not awake, awake, not herself,. more like a rad dial twiddling, picking. He weighs her feather weight, weight, and he lets her go.