What Saves
A poem by Pam Wynn
If you fall
spiraling
downward
no parachute no net
land in brambles, on a craggy
mountain ledge, a sea of broken
shells on the beach
even in snow
or a poppy field
from this height
it hurts, those bruises and welts
the cuts with bandages
sticking to your fish-mouth wounds
my brother fell, ripping
a calf muscle, he barely winced
he's a disciplined man
I cry
at the soft touch of damp
morning dew on my feet
friends chastise
-picking at scabs
keeps the wounds angry and red
so write
grace abounds
in each stroke of the pen
write and rewrite the story
of how you came to be here
not there
your hands otherwise
employed soon
the wounds will heal
Copyright Pam Wynn