amywink January 13th, 2019


My fear of edges
began early, when I
three or four, lifted
by my father, moved
not by my own power
toward the high window
of the Washington
Monument to peer out
on the surrounding city
and that sensation of
being moved, without
a will to move, stirred
and overwhelmed me
so what I felt is what
I remember, what remains
with me, not what I could see.

Even now, at edges,
on stairs, balconies
rotundas, high windows,
I feel that movement rising,
if I am close, on the bring
of falling, as if someone else
is moving me and I have
not yet decided I am ready
to be so close to falling.

Even now, at edges
of decisions, directions,
life-turning changes,
or deepest feelings,
at the brink of a frightful risk
I stand,
even while I am
moving, afraid
of falling
until I decide,
instead, to trust,
to make this
dangerous and
daring leap.

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