Anne Grebby

roof-fall, brain-fall


The roof fell: the brain cracked: the woman broke open. A mess of matter and blood spewed out across the floor. Scooping it up, she stuffed it back into her body and lifted her eyes to the place where a white plaster surface had once covered the sky.

The sky entered her rooms, uninvited, but nonetheless, welcome. A dust cloud grew to monster proportions, billowing into her spaces until it engulfed her completely.

‘Not this?’

It had come. She had long expected the arrival. She’d known it was imminent.

Here it was: a little death. She wasn’t ready.

‘Beauty.’ she called it.

Then she descended to the world and the people in order to grieve.

The moment was over. It had transformed itself into something physical, an incident an event, an occurrence.

It no longer belonged to her.

This was the loss, greater than the house, the home, the dwelling place.

The magnificence of the fall was lost to her forever.