I shrieked, shrill, high-pitched.
Agitating tranquil breezes.
After only a few steps, exiting the doctor’s office.
As my sister, whom I escorted there, went down.
Losing her balance removing the K-N95.
Which she obediently wore.
Told to do so in her reminder phone call.
Though once inside, finding it optional.
There she was beside me.
On the ground.
Managing to keep her neck tilted, crown above the sidewalk.
So as not to hit the cement.
A driver from a transit service came running.
Offered her his arm to stand.
Dust off the sudden loss of equilibrium.
I’m okay, she reassured us, pushing him away, herself up.
Nothing serious. Maybe a bit sore.
I inhaled the damp, biting air.
Relieved she wasn’t hurt.
On my watch.
So, I said to her, Dad would be proud.
Her face clouded, confused, what do you mean?
I answered, well, you protected your head. I watched your maneuver.
Going on to explain, when I broke my pelvis, Dad scolded me.
For not knowing how to fall!
She laughed.
I joined her.
For though tripping right beside me,
my sister knew what to do.
Held head high, jumped right up,
dismissing all rescue.
Lynn Benjamin
8, 2023