San Francisco. May 2008
at the north-western corner of union square, on a mild may afternoon, tourists and townsfolk had gathered.
heads cocked skyward, fingers pointing, hand-covered mouths, iphone cameras poised.
sirens blared as san francisco fire department ladders uncoiled like fern fronds filmed in time-lapse toward the something-teenth floor of the macy’s building.
there he stood, above a captive audience, teetering on the ledge of depression and disappointment.
as the hype and cordon below peaked, he let himself go, and sailed quietly to his death
silence.
i could not watch
i turned and left – the fall through the first 5 degrees of his descent seared into my memory like a scene from CNN coverage of 9-11
that night, and for the following nights, i lay in bed, going over that scene, again and again
sleepless. distraught
so, without knowing quite what else to do, i called home
on a white plastic hotel phone, that smelled of cigarette smoke and pizza
my prayer and call – answered together
solace in san francisco, all the way from avondale.
home