The Fallen by Edward Sankey

The Fallen
by Edward Sankey

Today, I met a jumper for the first time.

I’m not sure how far she had fallen, but as I looked at
her, I thought about what dark tincture of pain or
circumstance must have led to this final volley
between life and death.

Beneath a crystalline sky, I ran through shadows to
find a blanket to cover her. I wrote the words: “She is
dead. Call the police.” I placed the note on the body.

I left the shattered scene and returned to my 
apartment. As I turned the key, the door opened
slowly for me to see the jumper drift back silently
into my living room and then spiral off thinly into a
soft yellow dissipation.

Three years have passed since melancholy descended
and yet I think of her whenever the rain beats lifeless
patterns on my window sill, or fire cracks like wind
through the trees of autumn, or when I find the
courage to remain sober and turn out the lights at
night.

I can still feel this cold human magic when her eyes
float over me, as if tipped from a star, above the dust
that leaves me tied to a broken man, a dismantled
man.

Perhaps she was released from life so quickly, and
with such force, that she grasped a cruel truth about
the sad circumventions that lie silently within the
ghostly hearts of men.

Now, my life plays out beneath the vision of a
disconsolate spirit who gauges my every move, hears
every word, and holds my darkest hopes.

I never found out how far she had fallen, but I know
how far I have. I am the fallen man now. And I am left
to wonder what really changed in the blue darkness 
and how far we both had fallen.

Hear Edward Sankey recite the poem on the Viewless Wings Poetry Podcast:

Edward Sankey is a Toronto-based prose poet focused on short, short fiction for spoken word events. He writes under the rubric of Rebel Digital.

Instagram: @rebel_digital