She got here the way

we all do, tripped up by fate,

or lured by the promise of more;

the same way we all do,

through a hole in a fence

she needed to squeeze through

because the grass was greener

on the other side;

or because so many grackles

suddenly rose in a loud

shudder of wings and caws

from that irresistible ditch.

She got here the way we all do,

tripped up, led on, curious,

ignorant of the laws of gravity,

or defiant of them and of all

the things our mothers told us.

At the brink, at the height

of freedom and enjoyment,

just this far from smelling

the clover, her knees buckled

and she fell in.

Now, like the pitiable rest of us

wedged between steep sides

looking up at sky, she is

terrified and breathing hard.

It’s not a day appointed for rescues,

but she got here the way we all do;

so you over there, retrieve the ladder,

and you, the harness and ropes.

And will someone please make

coffee?  We’re bound to be here all night.