You’re condemned to die.
You’re condemned to photograph
your death. Your camera is light but
feels so heavy. You press the shutter button
and fall for the first time. You get up
and continue. You meet your mother.
You ask if she remembers when
you fell out of your crib. She says,
“Your father and I are getting a divorce.”
She says “your father” as if he were
your problem now. You say,
“You already divorced him years ago.”
She says, “Some things you never forget
how to do.” You meet a man
named Simon. He helps you carry
the camera. You take a photo of yourselves.
You ask your mother if she remembers
when you fell out of that apple tree.
She says she’ll call you later,
after she divorces your father.
A saint named Veronica wipes
your face. You photograph your new face
and fall a second time. A pattern of falling
has clearly been established.
You get up expecting that you’ll soon
fall again. You’re a forever faller.
A future Hall-of-Fame faller.
You meet the women of Jerusalem.
They say they’ll do anything
for you. They’ll sing about you.
You’re famous. Your camera captures
everything. You fall a third time.
It’s your best fall ever. You’re
stripped and prepped for the end.
It’s a beautiful evening. An amazing light
surrounds you. You die on your camera.
You’re downloaded into the tomb,
then returned to the womb.
Everything seems possible.