Father
       

Befall

A door is alarming, left open. A leaving;
belief that the exited party will memorize
reasons to find you again. And then. When
it happens, what Saturdays. What planned
activities. What woman that rends your
days. What ways you insist that your hair
can be combed and your failings cannot
be recorded. What ways you insist
you deserve adoring. Each morning
you're not sure you're welcome to stay.

Fall

A fall is a loop in the air, a cut in
the smother of blustering sky that is
often above but now somehow beneath.
He didn't jump. He wasn't pushed.
Perhaps he was rushed, a gathering
gale. Not a leap but a stumble, a swear
something's there, a balcony's
balance believed in, undoubted.
And perhaps a shout when the ladder
that ever suspended him finally ended.

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Copyright © 2016 Jessica Piazza All rights reserved
from 32 Poems
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission