because this is the only chance I'm going to get--
It was an ordinary day except no one had taken out the garbage.
It had been snowing since noon and there were piles of snow
on the front lawn and on the ledge outside the bedroom window.
Cyndi Lauper was singing or was it Destiny's Child? And you sleeping,
fingers half exposed through cut out leather glovers.
So I covered you with blankets where you lay in the snow.
There was so much piled up that I hadn't seen or heard you
fall from the bedroom window. Then another you fell after that,
tumbling down from the roof. There were twelve yous in all
each with a different facial expression, all stretched out or curled up--
all these lost selves. And as you fell and fell I wanted to catch you.
But I was never there in time.
–Dorothy Friedman
Poetry