detail: michelangelo
Traveling alone, she fell in the Sistine Chapel –
by M.J. Iuppa
collapsed in a whirl, as if a gust of
wind
struck her weak ankle and set her
spinning–
her skirt inflated, but she did not
rise
to bump her head beneath God’s
fingertip,
nor did she push Adam aside.
Instead, she leaned into descent
like a scarf tossed in a dance,
and onto the marble floor
she puddled, still looking up . . .
A crowd gathered; then men
carrying a canvas litter
arrived with a knock
on floor:
Avanti, she whispered,
and they lifted her up to their
shoulders–
a marvelous blur moved beneath her–
and before her: God’s plan.
~
first published in the Bryant Literary
Review
