"Trip," A Poetry Post

It seems like only yesterday
a trip and fall was just a thing.
I'd miss a step and tumble down and
give my wounded pride a kiss.

But falling down today was less a
brief distress and more a trial.
Though mature enough to laugh it off,
too mature to spring up,

I needed a lift.

I sat there laughing for a moment,
dangling in my great surprise.
My mind was done with falling down,
but I felt bruising in my thighs.

For those who watched it was a minute;
for late observers maybe two.
But I hadn't fallen in so long,
I did not remember what to do.

My little boy, he did remember.
He didn't miss a single beat.
He saw me fall, reached down his hand,
and lifted me up on my feet.

He picked up his bag, and picked up his coat,
and asked me if I was okay.
He picked up the books that I had dropped,
and carried my additional weight away.

I admit, in me I see a change in
how I fall and how I rise,
but I thank God that
for a moment,
my boy was a man
in his momma's eyes.

-T. D. James-Moss