mistake?

What would I be if I could not believe a mistake is possible?

and the whole world came crashing down
and fell at her feet,
literally

there was no more mortar
or bricks
between herself and the world

there were no more hammers
in the sky
just waiting to fall
on her head

oh joy to the world,
"she" was no more...only Love
so VAST

i simply consult
a stainmaster...
yes, there ARE such gifts
and ingredients...

He tells me it's nothing at all.
He tells me how.
His magic eraser is waved,
(or scrubbed and blotted and scrubbed and blotted...)
the wall sparkling again.

Of course soup hops out of the pot
with a fire burning under her butt!

of course paint spills on the carpet--
bursts out of the bottle
when opened for the first time in class,
spatters the woman in front of her,
her hair,
her shirt
and pants,
shoots far across the room!

how else would the whole class
bond instantly
with compassion for the paint burster,
the recipient of the paint,
and the teacher,
each offering
to help and clean and support
in whatever way they could?

oh dear Universe,
that pops
and bursts
and splashes out,
how many times must
we witness your effervescence
before we stop calling it
a mistake?