Falling Down the Stairs

Falling Down the Stairs

something must’ve snuck under my foot at the top

of the stairs and lifted it enough so there was no grip

and in an instant I was up in the air and sailing and

(after crashing  my elbow my spine on the lip

                                                of the riser)

I went straight along as though they weren’t stairs

at all but the slippery hill my children go down

go down go down hour upon hour until the snag

(their cold feet or wet mittens or a bare patch

                                                of gravel)

halts them suddenly and then they are quite done

in and they bring themselves dripping on the kitchen

floor so that snow is giving itself away

in the heat (we spend the next moments wiping

                                                noses, shivering

standing still) we believe, but check all the same,

that the speed we drip with or go down with has left us, if

hollow, still whole, a bit chafed, sure, from the wind and grit and all that

(and the one hard down on the ass slip and slide all pride yes

                                                that’s it my dears, all pride)