Michael H. Brownstein

WHAT IS THERE TO REMEMBER WHEN YOU SLIP AND FALL OVER THE RAILING

When life slows down to no motion
the shards of glass
the bending metal and breaking fiberglass
the long pop of burning rubber
it's not like when you drown
that first swallow of water
the struggle for your feet to regain ground
every memory
its not like falling in an elevator
and you're suddenly in a room
and she is standing there wearing only a hat
and you're in a room
and she's lifting up her blouse
and you're in a room
and she's sliding her panties past her knees--
my father told me
when he floated toward the light
he did not have the exact change
so they sent him home