my mother throws
the wet headed mop at him,
expecting him, nimble and atheletic
to jump over it
but it hits his calf
and ankle with
a sickening crack
and he falls
like tree felled in a storm
as he hits the too long green grass
there is a wet thud, thud.
then a momentary silence
striking in it's completeness
so profound, it is almost zen like
broken by the high pitched wail
as the pain receptors in my brothers brain
kick in to high gear,he writhes on the ground
my mother hovering over him
repeating this mantra
"you were supposed to jump!
you, were supposed to jump"
he was foueteen, the local sport star
arrogant as only teenagers can be.
she would have been middle to late forties
a single parent having worked a double shift
I cannot remember his infraction,
there were; oh, so many
but still 38 years on
I can feel the silence
so absolute....
and hear the mantra....
you were supposed to jump
you were supposed to jump