|
I Have Fallen |
Not for the first or last time
not gracefully for a person
of my size, age or hair color
not predictably, yet not surprisingly
But deep and hard, as if
the painted concrete floor
was love itself, as if I were young
and rubbery, tough as a buttress
Those who jump to my aid,
the three men who lift me, seem
unaware of what good men they are
rescue dogs, they grin like Labradors
Unfortunately, I have fallen and
My face is scarlet red and my friends
worry, and my sense of dignity
is blue as the goose egg on my skull
Lumpy and sore as Lucrecia after the rape
Angry as Conchita and her rolling red cape
beaten but not defeated, an elderly Joan of Arc
with so many deeds incomplete and unspoken
Lifted by three strong men, I grumble like
a bag of crackers as it meets the rolling pin
Entirely mortified as I come up, sudden as a helix
one man says, more than once, “Do you stand?”
Yes, but where I stand, I do not know
copyright 2020
Viola
Weinberg |
