Descending from from the top stair, 

whose carpet marked red from wine stains,

(grape juice)

I chipped my tooth on the melted, false-

wooden railing.

I chipped my throat on blackened   

paper. 

Captain my Captain--

aspirin aspirin aspirin;

aspirin is a child’s painkiller.

I am a child no longer; 

breastbone thickened by Fractured

Heart Syndrome that everyone

experiences.

Freckles who once galloped in soybean fields,

kneel and sashay to 

ballet in Beethoven routines.

Perfection,

painted over scarring flesh. 

Painted over a child whose chest is thin

and throat shines pale.

Whose tooth chipped upon a hit

like fine china. 

Small curdled child like a 

breeze of cold breath to an ant.

Agonizingly curious.

I washed my face with creek spittles--

I wash my fash with herbs in tin bottles.

As it was-- as it

is,

skin, to carefully prod with knobby fingers.

Same skin as it was.

Same ol’ skin to run the beans

and trip on ill-bred carpet.

Downdowndown.

Down like chalky aspirin

that falls through the throat

in Autumn when joints ache and turn

black.

We children always fall down but never

back.

We never go back to what we came from.

It is impractical a thought--

absurd a thought.

No matter the extent she tried, 

(and tried she did)

she could not paste her bone

back into her mouth.

What is done is done.