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.