I remember that night you twisted in sleep—
like a thrown body falling lifeless to the Earth.
In a black chair I watched you fall—
I wished for a parachute in my hands...

– Henry Mak ("shape--shifters")

Walking alone amongst these tall structures,
I know where I am in all this reinforced concrete.
At this time of night only cats and skunks
and stray dogs are about, a few lights flicker
in the buildings, people are awake who don’t
know it is time to stop, to make that leap
into a world unlike this one. This field looks up
to our condo, a wood fence hiding the lowest floor,
the fence missing boards, the grass, deep.
Remember that night you twisted in sleep,

a pretzel under comfortable sheets, a pillow
fluffed to the breaking-point? The next day
always came too soon, days too bright, and
I was never closer to understanding you.
I would wake up with a headache, blood rushing,
my body sweating. And you’d be there, the mirth
of yesterday gone, the laundry and dishes beckoning,
kitchen trash needing to be tossed down the chute.
And I began to question my self worth—
like a thrown body falling lifeless to the earth

I felt weightless, going through the motions, useless,
with no one else around to help, the ground approaching
quicker than I imagined. I’d fold the still warm laundry
and think about the weather, the rain, and the son
I will never have, the 5-day forecast. Entropy set in,
the dishes, the overflowing hamper in the hall,
these things seemed insurmountable to both of us,
and the bills. We were exhausted, disappointed
that our lives amounted to this. I’d sit by the far wall
in a black chair, I watched you fall

asleep, a weight temporarily removed, your face
lightened in the approaching dark, you were softer
to me, a feather on the edge of a precipice, floating
down from an imagined height, a journey that began
when you were nothing in someone else’s eyes, and has
continued to this time, eased occasionally by the sands
of beaches, but always something that added a burden,
made your descent quicker. I am in this field, below
your window, and look up from where I stand,
I wished a parachute in my hands.

Reinforced Concrete
by David Clink
from: Shapeshifter, ©2004