Headfirst · M. J. Turner

Flailing in the blind air, a slapstick
drop through the darkness –

   That door wasn’t a door.

Surf down the stairs on my white flannel
belly, a bruised boogie board. The smell of carpet
and fresh blood. Muffled thumps, my mouth hitting each
oak tread. Count: one, two, three…

   Tooth fairy, don’t visit me tonight.

Bank shot off the paneling, skim
the sharp-shanked balusters by the open wall.
Arms out, arms out.

   My arms and neck, forgive me.

Below, the floor tightens
its slate tiles in anticipation. I can hear it breathe.


M.J. Turner’s poems have appeared in Spillway, concīs, and the I-70 Review. She lives in Massachusetts.