Walking in the park

young voices shouted behind me

One little boy passed

pedaling fast, calling back

to the other still behind

Who crashed, then wailed

I turned and saw him

a small boy on the ground

Eighteen feet away

maybe twenty-four

(I estimate distance in

six-foot increments now)

I stood, rooted to the path

Against my mother instincts

I did not run to him

I did not kneel down

I did not help him up

I did not say, show me what hurts

I did not rub gentle circles on his back

I did not murmur into his ear

I saw his father coming along

not hurrying

My expression masked

I turned away, and walked on