Amber Fall
She probably drank a gallon of hard cider.
Shameless, with sleeves pulled down to her palms,
and open shoulders
she kept on falling.
One heel was sculpted with mud,
the other broken.
She kept on cursing every minute
stolen from the sunshine,
and threatened Father Frost;
old cranky man who slept and snored,
and couldn’t hear her yet.
She said there will be fallout, anarchy,
there will be a lawsuit.
Phh! The lawsuit? More! The end of patriarchy!
And she kept falling to the yards and curbs.
She cried a million puddles in New England.
She ripped her amber necklace,
and the beads of apricot,
rust, saffron, coral, and honey scattered outward.
My falling,
falling,
falling
Fall
will die as a rebel — proud, stubborn, and unconquered
and leave the hidden jewels of recurring cord
as a reminder of pulsating resurrection.
John Noble Wilford, The New York Times, 1966.
