The Fall

The Fall

I slipped on loose stones
Coming down the mountain yesterday
And fell on rocks.
It was a day of horses grazing
And clouds lying soft as goose down
On mountain peaks.
Far below the church bells rang.
Nearby bright red wild dahlias
Bloomed
And at my feet black beetles
Pushed dung balls uphill.

Someone had stolen the right arm
Of the plastic Jesus
From the niche cut into the rock face
Beneath the tall white cross.
The empty hole gaped at the shoulder.
I had fallen beneath it.

The lake looked purple
Under the moody sky.
I stood and checked the parts
Of my body.
My right hand was hurt.

"A hairline fracture,"
The doctor said the next day
Showing me x-rays,
And wrapped my hand
And gave me pills for pain
And asked where I was from.
It was an unusual name he said
And smiled.

"It's nothing," I said to Mary Lou
When she brought me my coffee,
At her coffee shop across the street
From the clinic.
"The world is suffering from floods
And earthquakes and wars."
"It's not nothing," she said,
"This is your world."
And brought me a chocolate muffin
On the house.

I looked at my hand
Lying on the table,
My small world, and took time to love it
And its suffering.

I was grateful
For the kindness of friends.

Story ID:	2775
Written by:	Zofia Danute Barisas (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Poem
Location:	Ajijic Jalisco Mx Mexico
Year:	2007