Poem: The Fall


I’m standing on the edge.

The twin buildings, sun gleaming.

Shining, the side of the building is shining and reflective,

and my adult face is met with a child staring back.


Eyes wide and clear, yet hauntingly blue,

dirty blonde curls falling over them,

Freckles dotting across my nose--

“Shirley Temple.”

My great-uncle. Nickname. Me.

A kid laughing.

Languid, like water. The air is thick. Hard to move.

I continue.

In the distance: a volcano. Erupting.

The building shakes, smoke fills the air, what’s happening?

Screams of terror, jet lines painting the sky--


Another shake. The ledge is appealing. I glance over.

Rubble. Smoke. Fire. But the ground?


The building shakes.

Only escape?


The building shakes.

And I fall.