Remember the 80s? The waterfall behind
the trailer. I’d sneak right up to the edge.
At no age is it easy to judge proximity to
harm. What about the 90s? The grandfather
clock I climbed tipped and pinned me under.
Wet washcloth for my head, broken glass
for my body. A towering thing uprooted.
A small, clumsy thing unchanged. Others
warn against inanimate dangers. You
fashion knives from Damascus steel. Oil
to keep from rusting, sharpen it constantly,
you said. I left it inside its protective case.