By now the delicate falling <br />of a shining snowfall soothed <br />every inch of Brooklyn <br />which I announced to everyone <br />in Mike’s restaurant. <br />Behind the counter Ryan glanced <br />at his watch, then continued <br />peeling potatoes for the morning rush hour. <br />“Bernstein, ” he said, “you’re one way out dude.” <br />“Still a miracle, Ryan, <br />and did you know each snowflake’s alive <br />also unique, never to be repeated <br />a billion births going on right now <br />on the streets of Brooklyn.” <br />Kotz struggled to turn his head to me <br />then said, “I’ll be dead <br />but I’ll survive—on the street, <br />lost, homeless, a bum. <br />But what’s that? ” <br />Before I could respond <br />Celina Callahan, the writer, said to Kotz, <br />“Many people who are that bad off <br />kill themselves. <br />In my last novel fourteen characters <br />did away with themselves, <br />mostly with a cocktail of Clorox and red wine, <br />although a few took the gas pipe. <br />One jumped from the roof of <br />a six story building. I made him land <br />on bushes breaking his fall. <br />He lived. <br />Thus the irony of a leap to life <br />propelled the novel <br />with such dramatic force <br />I was amazed at my own skill. <br />I say a ‘leap to life’ <br />because after the attempt <br />he realized how wonderful <br />simply being alive could be. <br />He broke a leg, of course, <br />but in the hospital he met a nurse <br />who became fascinated with <br />his few seconds of falling. <br />Conversations ensued, <br />then love, then marriage, <br />then children, then happiness.” <br />“How do you come up with that stuff? ” asked Kotz. <br />“I follow authentic life, ” said Celina Callahan. <br />Kotz stared at her, lips moving towards a smile <br />then stopping, serious, saying, <br />“A real man puts <br />a bullet through his brain.”<br /><br />Charles Chaim Wax<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ten-thousand-times-pounded/
