Iris Jamahl Dunkle (D2D

IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, BREAK GLASS

The saints that lean from the rooftops on Smith Street

have grown tired of watching traffic.

I've walked through their second-storey stares

for weeks on my way to recovery,

without incident, but yesterday,

ground level, on the disheveled cement,

half-a-body poked its thin legs

out from beneath a parked car.

For a moment, I thought I'd finally found an accident,

a body to mourn.

There is a science to it:

the way a human body will react

when it's struck by a car;

the hip causes cartwheels, the knee,

a dramatic slide onto the fragile metal hood.

The positions, where and how

the body might fall, can be predicted.

My physical therapist tells me

my accident was well-choreographed.

Of course, that's how I knew

the body was a fake, a mannequin,

a false idol.

There was no question about your death.

We were told it was instantaneous--

and at the funeral we were confused not to have

a body to mourn. We buried your ashes.

My mother, dumb with grief,

said it was because you'd been decapitated in the accident.

The firemen who found your twisted car threw up their arms.

My accident was different.

I was on the outside, a pedestrian,

given the three-second gift of flight before

the weight of it all struck me.

There were three swollen seconds,

when I actually considered my own death;

how it would feel to be inside the twisted car

There is a slow motion

There is no fear in an instant

and the peace of it startled me.

Iris Jamahl Dunkle received her M.F.A. from New York University. She is currently a Ph.D. candidate at Case Western Reserve University. Her work has appeared in a number of books, print and online publications including: Cleveland in Prose and Poetry, Fence, Squaw Valley Review, Boxcar Poetry Review and Washington Square. She's been teaching creative writing in both University and community environments for the past ten years.

Dance to Death, Issue VI