A better photographer could have captured the moment

as she

                                    descended the stairs, 

                                    hopping really

barefeet, carrying her shoes in one hand

                                    a handful of sweater with the other  


A more adroit person might have taken a series of pictures

six or seven in a row


                                      top of the stairs

                                      halfway down

                                      then the fall 


lastly her body, collapsed at the bottom,  

neck twisted at a terminal angle

                                     her shoes thrown across the room 


A better photographer might have saved every image

but mine were the hands that waxed the steps and 

my eyes will keep the only memory