TRAVERSING THE SLUSH OF MIGHT
Deep at night, when hyenas start slinking
    about my skull and dishes start breaking in the 
porcelain sink of memory, when a cold wind 

sets a trash can lid dancing down Brook St., I  
     begin to dream, and the dreams come like
beads strung on a necklace that is way too tight. So I 

can't explain why Grandma Sarah showed up, uninvited, 
      during a visit to Grandma Bessie's. I don't know why
we needed to take our Ho Chi Minh poster with us

on trips and tack it up in every room we happened 
      to be staying in. And I don't know why I hit that car
and kept going, then drove the wrong way

down a  steep ramp to the highway (before
       Sandy took over and backed us out). I don't
know why any of this happened, but I do know

I was slipping on the rock face of an Adirondack
     slope I once climbed and swinging way too high in the
playground at Van Cortlandt Park. What I knew is that
   
     I was falling.
 

School starting in two days, 
my 32nd year.
September 5, 2004
    

All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
Contact Bill Schechter