Consolation in a time of darkness
Twenty Steps to Evacuation
In Praise of Falling
Consolation in a time of darkness
Smile of a thousand suns, hairdo of a hundred sprays, eyes bright and beguiling, cheeks rising, chin without a hair or a quiver, countenance of trust and vigor
a small path that you must eventually follow with the temptations of Pinocchio
on one side and Christ on the other
despite a mountain of losses, and defying every shade of darkness you ever allowed yourself to be blinded by, you live in gratitude, an unspeakable flourishing
of understanding, flawless and generous
according to the laws of the spin that perfected the geode and blue whale, the laws that formed the currents of all waters and ethers and inspired the spinning of letters into words
not to mention the spinning of paints and clay and the spinning of symphonies or the chain of insects and animals and blossoms and stones
not to mention the spinning of galaxies, of the tiniest of lines on the tips of a newborn’s fingers,
and the suspicion it will never stop spinning…
with us--
or without us
First, the amoebas will stop bothering to divide.
Second, the Russians will begin to move their people from the cities, and then we will, too.
Third, the cockroaches will begin to chant, but we will hear only a scuffle.
Fourth will be the decision of whether to finally stop eating chocolate.
Fifth will be make-up's time to go.
Sixth will be when scholars weep for Hamlet as well as Raskolnikov.
Seventh the scientists will air their reservations about survival.
Eighth will be the unplugging of all television sets, all non-transistor radios. All computer terminals will be on the blink. News will persist, and news will be covered. For the first time in recorded history, the News will be current, although no one will hear it.
Ninth will be the ten-million things to leave behind.
Tenth will be the journey itself, and this will be the chance for fame and glory we have all waited for, for the ones to survive this journey will be quite famous.
Eleventh will be their stories.
Twelfth will be the publication of these stories. But they will never be read.
Thirteenth will be the motion pictures to be made from the stories, but they will never be seen.
Fourteenth will be when the dogs refuse to bark.
Fifteenth will be a sign given in the dreams of the prophets, but the prophets will not be hearkened to.
So, sixteen will be the signs of the times. These are the signs that we presently see before us.
Seventeenth will be the quake on the western seacoast.
Eighteenth will be the reverberation of cries of those who have not been swallowed.
Nineteenth will be the acid forming in the stomach and the black spew that rises from the spleen and the issuance of blood from every nether lip.
Twenty will be the tears that are shed. But they will not come from the eyes of thousands upon thousands of children who are presently sick and homeless and starving and dying.
In the world of one's reality
there are many opportunities
to fall down. One may slip
up, smack
into,
stumble upon,
or just plain collide
with person
place
thing.
There are steps
ladders
slides.
There are cliffs
ditches
wells.
There's folly
and melancholy,
drowning
and crashing.
There is the height
of grace
and peak
of obstinacy.
There's falling in the eyes of someone else
and falling in love.
(There is voluntary and accidental, a point seemingly incidental, but that's a matter of opinion or a fact that might not necessarily be so, for all who fall must consider the idea of falling and the fear thereof: the burst of heart, the scars in mind, the physical body and the invisible soul.)
They say the higher you go the lower you can fall,
but if you've not fallen asleep or turned into falling stone,
what a thrill it is --
before............ you
fall.
Geri Lipschultz has an MFA from the Iowa Writers' Workshop, as well as a Ph.D. from Ohio University. She teaches writing at Hunter College and Borough of Manhattan Community College. Some of her publications include work in New York Times, College English, Kalliope, Black Warrior Review, Great Weather for MEDIA,and The Toast. She has a story and poem in Pearson’s college anthology, Literature: Introduction to Reading and Writing, as well as a story in Spuyten Duyvil’s The Wreckage of Reason II She has blogged atwewantedtobewriters.com. Her novels have been finalists for Eyewear Publishing, Subito Press, and others. She was awarded a Creative Artists in Public Service (CAPS) grant from New York State for her fiction, and her one-woman show (titled Once Upon the Present Time) was produced in NYC by Woodie King, Jr.
