swallow

Dear tiny pill,
saving me from the traffic and dangerous plant
Have mercy
The birds are for heaven
But I will wait faithfully to drop you down my throat tomorrow morning so you can catch me again.

__________________________

There is a tiny pill which I take every morning. It is designed to keeep me from falling. It hurt the first time and was an extremely long fall although too short for a parachute. All I had to break it was me. And break I did in my fall which happened during spring with hatchlings yet to experience their first summers.

I am heavier now since I started taking the pill. There is an odd twanging sound I can hear through the ventilation duct in my room like an unamped bass string being plucked. It comes and goes, but I haven’t the urge to investigate it. Or replicate it save for communicating it to you now.

I am sat on the edge of my bed. This is not such a great height. I cannot fall from here to injure myself if I take the tiny pill I tell myself. Now the twang has disappeared for a period, I can hear birdsong and traffic through the ventilation.

I am listening, training myself again to hear the incremental tick from the wristwatch on the bedside table and the lurch of the second hand of the wall clock on the landing.

I am on the edge of my bed, one floor up. It is not far to fall here. But I am afraid so taking the pill might comfort me. The birds can perch on the edge of a branch. But I am far from flying now.

I am losing my place and cannot concentrate for as long. The edge I have seems tiny at times but if it keeps me from the deep end where my struggle is endless, perhaps it is worth it.

Perhaps too I am beginning to characterise my illness like those who saw me. Did they see a fallen person or someone vulnerable to falling? The birdsong is built out of tiny cheeps. Not the twanging and banging of the scaffold that I must hear through the ventilation duct.

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