What Doesn’t Kill You Lets You Fall

On Fall and Falling

What Doesn’t Kill You Lets You Fall

By Eve Zennarrow

In the fall
I like taking photos
of dead flowers,
like the ones The Rolling Stones
are singing about.

I don’t know if you knew, but
it’s not the fall that kills you.

This fall too, like any other,
leaves are falling
on the frostbitten ground,
wet and cold
like the intestinal pink of my cat’s nose.

You can slip and fall easily in the fall,
but it’s not the fall that kills you.

Although it will certainly try.
It will distract you
with its color palette,
while the chill in your bones
gently leads you to step
towards the edge
of reason,
where fences are lowest.

But no — it wouldn’t be the fall
that kills you.

Oh, the ethereal veil
of the morning fog:
all smoke and no mirrors,
while it hides everything
that’s not right in front of you.

Looking for you, I could trip and fall,
but it’s not the fall that kills you.

There are many ways one can fall in the fall.

I could even fall in love
with you,
while you sip hot coffee
from your Led Zeppelin mug
and no one is looking —

after many falls that tried to kill me but failed,
because it’s not the fall that kills you.

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