A Fall Into Grace - Sept. 5, 2023

Ten years old, I slip on a weak limb, the two-story fall broken by branches before bushes, the kids run for help, my dad scoops me up, carries me home. Don’t remember the blood from the branch sticking out of my hip before passing out.

Do recall my head on his shoulder, my body draped in his arms

the craved closeness chasing away the spikes of pain, the wounds feeling like a willing payment for that, with a hard wish that we lived much farther away.

Isn’t there a saying?

the things we do for love