The Eighteenth Poem

  Lyuba Belikh's painting of a chilikh's painting d's tea party

 The Eighteenth Poem July 31, 2022

And then I fell. Backwards.

as I stood by the stove, 

measuring out the ginger

root, the water running to

fill the big stew pot, and I

pulled off the oven door,

trying to stop myself. I hadn’t

fallen since April. I was proud

of my no-fall record. I sat up

but couldn’t see where I could

pull myself back up. So I pressed

the button on my new medical

alert I now wear all the time.

A voice asked, “What is wrong,

Judy?” I said, “I fell and can’t

get up, and the water is running.”

I had just finished setting up my

Life Station for emergencies.

It took awhile, but then i heard

the words “Help is on the way.”

It took awhile, but then a man

came in through the front door.

He understood how to get the

door key. I said, “Turn off

the water. I was afraid the water

would overflow the sink. It didn’t.

It went down the drain. He got me

to my feet and backed me to a

chair. Then he said, “Don’t move,” 

went to get his case and checked

my vitals. Janet arrived and sat

down and watched. My blood

pressure was up, but it slowly

came down. I was shaking and

couldn’t stop. “Do you want

to go to the hospital?” “No.”

Janet stayed until he left and

I stopped shivering. My son Tim.

arrived. He’d been farther away.

Then Janet went back to her work.

I was fine.