Blog Home Agent of Chaos City Poetry Zine Buy Stuff!
...and they lived happily ever after. Smith & Lady: poets, artists, photographers & adventurers.
Our relationship was forged to the soundtrack of Yoko Ono's magic,
frenetic, love-laden song, "Walking On Thin Ice." ( play song )

5 Falls + 1

5 Falls + 1

Well, wife ain’t crushed, and I’m not broken, maybe . . . though yesterday’s +1 seems to have my knee doing a swollen grapefruit impersonation, and one rib shrieking every sneeze or cough.

Many a fall in my life, but past two months seeded a bumper crop.

Cleaned our roof gutter, and as I stepped over the garden fence, my toe caught in chicken wire and I slow-mo fell forward, which gave me time to notice my head heading toward the raised paving bricks.

Hit head and knee hard. First thing I checked for head flesh gash. When 10, I jumped a low block wall and landed on a block behind it which cut my leg in a bloodless V down to sun-bright bone, which in fascination I touched with my finger, amazed how white and shiny it was. I expected to touch skull.

Had head blood, but no gashes, so checked knee. Couple years ago I broke my kneecap and the bone didn’t knit, so kneecap’s held together by fibers, and if I knelt on it, I’d be in eye-tearing pain for weeks. Luckily I hit just below the knee so again spared major damage.

Then two weeks ago a cold snap froze the water running across a Metropark path, then dusted it with snow, so I’m walking the dog an hour before dawn, looking for deer and fotos, writing poems in my head, and — WHAP — foot hits snow-dusted ice and I’m on my back on frozen gravel, in the dark, on a seldom-used path, in considerable pain, thinking it’s too cold to be lying here, let’s see what works, and slowly rise, functional.

Fall 3 is the scariest. Sitting here reading, I hear a thunk 3 feet to my right, look over and see black cat blur racing away and think “oh, she knocked something over,” and then brain freezes trying to understand why the 40 pound ceiling fan is lying on its side on the floor in front of Lady’s chair. The fan had broken away from the cathedral ceiling and crashed into the easy chair in which she’d been sleeping half hour earlier. Had she been there, she’s dead or broken.

Reality really tried with sneak-punch 4 & 5. Snowstorm hit 3 days ago, and I shoveled for hours, safely. Then took the garbage and compost out. At the garbage cans I looked at the 50 foot of snow drifts between me and the compost pit and decided to drop it in the trash instead . . . but then my brain says no, that’s not right, the 8-Fold Path preaches right thought, right action, so I walk through snow, step on an icy flagstone and smash to the ground on my right side. This is hard. Seriously painful. Slowly see what works, manage to rise, decide to dump compost in trash after all, take one step and step into the fish pool that’s totally covered in snowdrift, and smash even harder on my left side, pain overwhelming, knowing pain this intense means bad news because no way you can hurt this much and not be seriously damaged.

I begin to see what works, turn on my side, unsteadily rise, slow-step into the house, and tell Lady I have to sit a bit before I can check if I’m broken. And I’m not. Only damage besides bruised muscles is a 9 inch blood scrape down my right forearm, and a 6 inch blood scrape down the left. Pain is so great I feel nauseous.

The next day is fall free, and I’m exhilarated that I’m alright, absolutely astonished.

And then . . .

Yesterday morning I’m carrying my toasted bagel on a soon-to-be broken plate as I walk through a dark room where our 120 pound golden labrador is lying unseen right in the middle and I smash chest first into the floor, managing to turn my head so I land side-skull instead of face first.

Smashed my never-healed broken knee, which looks quite grapefruitish now, and I bone-bruised or cracked a rib. A cough brings sharp pain, a sneeze tears. Had many a cracked and broken and bruised rib in my time so know you wait them out, hold the rib tight when you sneeze to reduce pain, and take smaller tokes so you don’t cough.

These falls are more worrisome because I have bad bones — osteoporosis.

Before fall 6, I told Lady I was writing this up as Five Falls, and she said better watch it doesn’t become the 8-Fall Path, which brings me to the humor here . . . I decide to do the “right thing” as I see it for the 8-Fold Path, and I get hurt. Something doesn’t gel.

So there, it’s written as 5 + 1 . . . this means no fall # 7 allowed. Time to stop this ridiculous sitcom, the Gods have their portion of laughter.

One odd thought is I’ve been slowly losing weight past year, for no known reason, going from 165 down to this morning’s 149. Since I’m doing these falls from my 6′ 3″ height, those extra lost pounds probably help hurt me less.

Another fleetflash thinking is the film Final Destination where some young folk get off the plane that’s going to crash, which irritates Death, so he hunts them down and kills them one by one . . . spose reality is trying to fall me into quietude?

Maybe it all goes back to Eve and the Snake. Or me on the make.

Half horror, half slapstick, whole Smith.

Lady’s chair, ceiling fan fallen

Leave a Reply

Copyright (c) 2009 Smith & Lady
Designed by Lady K