a little nervous,
we step off the elevator and walk past the ICU.
My father fell off a ladder.
It’s better to say he jumped as the ladder descended to earth,
and broke his 70 year old ankle.
Everyone has a similar story;
falling from ladders seems a popular thing to do.
Grandpa haunts this hallway
and the little chapel where we prayed
three years ago.
Such dire circumstance don’t follow us today,
but my sister confesses she’s afraid
and begs me to flee with her to the cafeteria for a soda.
I’m afraid I’ll turn to find her sprawled on the floor,
soda rushing across the linoleum.
I tell her to be brave,
after all, this is part of life too.