by Beth Kephart Ricardo Gomez Angel A I fell and an ankle bone broke — a sound that rose up through the shaft of me and also knelled the air. So that I heard myself break twice, in the same instant, and then I couldn’t stop hearing. B An ill-begotten mash of wrongful circumstance. An incident on my own front lawn. God, it was hot. C Like what? Like the sound of a boot snuffing a dry stick. Like the yank of a knot. Like the wind knocked out of a hollow. Like it wouldn’t stop.