Breaking Plates

Willa Tompson

A terrifying fall, of course, if you'd be so unfortunate to trip over your own feet. But too many people believe that this world is only for the graceful, the fabulous, and the slick.

Prizewinners.

We dance around this problem as if it will consume us, nipping away, leaving us tattered.

We are useless.

They talk, up there. They can't help but talk. While we bite the bullet, our lips shut, they talk. We live in squalor, fighting off serpents and demons before finding out that we are the serpents and demons, and we need all we can get.

Addiction.

Terror.

We ask, "Was it always like this?" when we wake up from our dreams, for our dreams could not be as sweet as theirs, nor could they last as long, nor could they even have dignity in hope. "Was it always like this?" when we're on the dirty ground dodging acid rain crying to gods who can't see us through the sky.

Was it always like this?

Whispers in the dark behind curtains saying "watch your mouth." While housewives stir batter and vacuum. They say there is a key. A metal key in the middle of nowhere. But I can't hear them, because the television is teaching us how to sell real estate to get rich is far too loud and much more useful.

Devastation

Teetering on the edge I see it all. I know I'm crawling out like a mole, squinting in the light. I'm going to fall; oh but how I love the view for my blind eyes. Brown, gray and neon. Beyond is green and blue, but it's covered with fog, so I only imagine the curve on a globe.

Scurrying through the crowed I see them, all of them. I see how small they are.

There are restless kids climbing up too.

You're not allowed here, I wish I could say. This isn't for you.

I imagine when I was younger. I remember being cut close to the bone, snagged and ripped, like a rag doll. I remember fearing falling, cracking my scull. I imagined my mothers face at the hospital. I imagined assuring her it wasn't that bad. I imagined getting in even more trouble when the men came.

You have to be brave to climb.

The top isn't for the weak.

And I have my golden ticket. I have my pie in the sky, my out, and my salvation.

Sometimes when I see those children climb and turn back, I wonder if they fear falling, or if they just fear getting in trouble.

I don't own anything