Quatrain

Satisfied, I put the notebook away and allowed myself a snooze.

It was winter. All that surrounded me on that bench at the Old Port was freshly fallen snow. I stood up in a trance, and my legs marched to the barricade overlooking Alexandra Basin. I looked at the waters below, where a whirlpool grew like the maw of a sea monster. It was like I was watching footage of a point-of-view actor, unfazed as he hoisted himself up and stood on the railing. Forced to see through his eyes, I could not look away. Was the barricade always this high up? To my horror, the actor let himself tip over. The wind nipped my cheek — it was my own body, my own gut that lurched as my center of gravity shifted forward, downward. I fell headfirst into the vortex, and . . .

“Rise and shine, Gale Jones.”