Upset of Falling

The all-too-tall set of stairs, straight up from the front door; upset of falling, the slipping, tumbling, scares the fist to hang tight the rail, take your time descending in lack of light, except for the landing’s chandelier. Enter the ominous mirror - the vanity oval swallows the queen-sized bed; nightmares end up in another world, another time. As we were playing cards, the painting fell with heavy breath and breadth onto the table; not my first fallen piece of art. This Ursuline happening, its unseemly content, spooky… or spooked by our united goodness. I slept soundly, as the painting leaned on the other side of the French doors and the mirror haunted my sister’s sleep. Spent by heavy limping, sweating profusely, wandering the French Quarter, munching beignets, relishing shrimp creole, and more. My shadowy figure moved in the space scaring my sister half to death, “Is that you…?” With arms bobbing, I say, “Ooooh…” So I scared her. We laughed. A couple days later she had to remove my shoes and socks, help me into bed, slide pillows under my feet. At least I didn’t fall down the mansion stairs. and leave, in wake, another Orleans ghost.