Plummet

 

Plummet

 When you plummeted from the suspension bridge you resembled a leaf falling. Later on the news I learned your name and your age, which was forty two, a significant number. I remembered this from a well-known book I’d read before, though you yourself were not famous. I wondered, as you tumbled, did you think of your children (a boy of six, girl of ten) or the husband who beat you, the unwashed clothes in the linen basket or your three goldfish, or did you think of your lover’s mouth, soft as a petal on your own; your red beating heart?

 

Bronwen Griffiths