backpack

I went flying this morning, my first voyage in a long while. When I landed, I landed on forearms and knees, face nearly grazing the floor of the train. I saw things there I will spend some time trying to un-see. All apologies and crawling, I fumbled my way up and out. My eyes were full of tears, an autonomic response to the shock and sudden pain. When I blinked to clear my vision, my wet eyelashes streaked mascara over the lenses of my glasses. Limping, foggy-eyed, confused: what happened? I tripped. Backpack.  On the floor, in front of feet.  I saw it as I fell. I tripped? I must have. My daily tasks were shrouded in odd jolts of soreness. I told my coworker, who commiserated. When we reached the “it could have been worse” portion of the exchange,...