When Those We Call Great Fall

When Those We Call Great Fall

When those we call great fall,

when the unwanted news claims

the screen, showing image

after same image, of their refusal

to comment, the covering hand

coming to the camera’s eye,

when pundit after pundit pushes

on and on, filling every column inch

and broadcast minute, we sit

in dead silence, still as a

fallen branch, splintered,

the rot settling in.

When those we call great fall,

when they toss in their beds and turn

inward, when they tell themselves

that what they did was,

if not right, understandable,

when their tales trouble truth,

they climb out of bed and sit

in the dark, alone, shadowless,

taking stock, tallying their losses.

When their tears track their way

straight into their sorrows, they sink

into their self-serving lies.

When those we call great fall,

when they leave their locked houses,

accompanied by their partner’s

dead stare, to publicly say

only what they think they must,

when they confess offering no

details or without telling why,

when they ask for God’s guidance,

for forgiveness from all those

they’ve hurt, they pick their words

like lint from an old shirt, seeking

the same shape they once knew.

When those we call great fall,

their superiors and sycophants,

out of some sense of self-protection

or defense, struggle toward tales

to keep themselves in place. They,

caught between the hand that feeds

and the hand that burns, have

choices to make. They speak,

watching themselves, waiting to see

how the current accounts pull

them in, pull them here and there,

how they might wiggle until safe.

When those we call great fall,

when their hard-won honors

and awards are withdrawn,

when their plaques and statues

become nothing more

than a bird perch, they drop

from sight, hide from places

that once brought applause.

When they see the public facing

another’s failure publicly plastered,

they pause, knowing how their

soft flesh sheds its skin.

When those we call great fall

we fall with them, their failures

finger their way into our hearts.

When their frailties figure

into our faith in the best of us,

we are frozen, frightened by

the math of more and less.

And when we flirt with forgiveness,

we find we are and are not

like them, that we will carry them,

that we will not forget their falls

and the sad fortunes of once.