Between a bike messenger’s ropy calves I can just make out the 30% OFF TODAY ONLY sign at Lady Foot Locker. It reminds me of the bamboo wind chimes on our patio.Ī thicket of legs encircles me. It’s not an unpleasant sound, more delicate than I would have imagined. I listen as my bones splinter and shatter. I register the brakes screeching and the horrified cries before I hit the pavement. If not love, at the very least you should be counting up your sins or wondering why you didn’t cross at the light.īut you should not be thinking about an apple. When you die-and I realize this as I hurtle through the air like a wounded bird-you should be thinking about love. I’d noticed it because it was so weirdly out of place, a defiant crimson McIntosh in an army of dull green Granny Smiths. It was in a vendor’s stall at the farmers’ market off Powell. I am thinking of an apple when the streetcar hits and my leg severs and my ribs crumble and my arm is no longer an arm but something unrecognizable, wet and red.Īn apple.
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