to break her fall
Jennifer Noyce

Mother, yesterday, fell to an injury -
cosmetic perhaps, but believably painful.
For the puppy in her arms, she found it hard
to break her fall.

In all its pine tree landscaped glory, the world
has always been just the right depth for her.
Shallow cement steps caught her face,
the eye a bruise, the nose a curdled cut.

Perhaps not.
Perhaps she has Europe in her veins.
Perhaps astronomy lies beneath her eyes in 9 o'clock sleep.

She is a fan of the red wine.
She is a darling,
a slightly built, brilliant-grinned, overwounded darling.

$75 a month in her first married apartment.

She believed in scouring the ground
for brightly lit articles of jewels,
laughter in pods falling from trees.

The evasion of distance is lying in wait.
Refer to the manual, mother.
The younger ones will present to you a great vicarious distance

Emily Ratzell