when_i_fell_down_the_chimney fyn gula if i was a bird, son of a grackle mother, she would have built her nest high in the top of a crumbling chimney before the farmhouse was renovated and there when the gypsy farmer set his fire alight on a spring day chilling to the bone, i would lose my balance and fall headlong down the narrow chute, landing on top of the burning newsprint, roll about, and startle the man with the aching back. and when he stopped watching the talented mr. ripley dvd and saw me, flames would be shooting up all around me, threatening to engulf me, and as i jump on to the ledge of the woodburner, he runs for his friends, for he is deathly afraid of birds. who will come? the boy with the bleached dreds, just back from a ride on his old firestone bike? the girl with the stars in her eyes who smiles like julia roberts who just drank too much chamomile tea? the boy who was thrown by the haflinger, just back from the catscan and everything's alright? it's jamie, the girl who just is, she cradles me with tenderness, carrying me like a small treasure one finds on a day of sudden surprises, up the wooden staircase painted black, to the world outside of century old walnut trees, bored cats on the prowl for moles, and geraniums waiting to be planted, to where she places me on the branch of a vibrant shademaster locust where i have no idea of what i'm going to do next. simply thankful i wasn't burned alive. 010530 ... farmfish jamie, thee girl who just is. 020623 what's it to you? who go blather from