Tumble Tale

On an unsuspecting Saturday
at the back of February
a day filled with planning
and purpose the Widow Wyile’s was striding
across the driveway
when BANG
down she went
a slick trick of a black
hard figurative dime of a puddle
a loud KNOCK
on life’s ever present
door of perfect perils 

The humerus
it turns out
is not your funny bone
and furthermore
when it breaks its neck
it ensnares the body’s own
to share the exquisite roaming
pains that are far from kind

Once again without the slightest
inclination she’d managed to join
yet another life experience club
Was this a fall from
or into grace or some altogether
other place?
a plunge at the very least it was
into the unexpected
into wending hallways of connective tissue
the steady howling uproar
of fascially taut inmates

Since she’d become a wincing bird
she shared in stories
tragic and of course absurd
went from bracing her wee wing tightly
against her chest to making minute
flaps toward her new dream
restored mobility
so much of healing
she mused is mustard
plastered metaphor

When you fall you must
get up and be waited upon
while you become weighted
in all capacities
time becomes thick
as many of the tomes
upon the Widow Wyile’s shelves
that she can no longer hold
but some of which prop
open nicely
don’t you find
they are precious
they are fine
they are special
classic rare sublime
they are boutique
accessions amassed
by the hundreds
parsed into paragraphs
cleverly illustrated pages

The books in the Widow
Wyile’s runaway biblio
take out are for reference
for sharing and for escape
but simply not for sale
at least not yet
at least not most
they’ve come together
as collections do
over years and years
the signs of special
classic rare sublime
boutique type interests
that lead certain bookish people
to use certain words
in certain not so usual
combinations that endeavour
to bloom without assumption
leave you to unfurl
your acquiescence that meanings
too have feet and cause
to slip and then BANG
before she knew it
her bookish house
has become a store
in some readers’ minds
and that makes sense
although it isn’t
and that readers dear
is indeed quite funny
and ticklish to the bone
which is setting well
thank you for asking
and brings forth the flowers
of opportune amity
for life’s sideways travails
that rise and render
our journeys aflutter
page after marvel
peril after page
bland after bleak
heal after tow
and onward ever so