|
| ledges |
| I have found |
| my new-found |
| fascination with the ledge |
| that's on the twenty-second floor |
| and I steal up here |
| to visit |
| like a lover |
| at those times I'd |
| fear to leave |
| and fear to stay |
| I can see |
| the world stretched |
| out beneath me |
| like the worn rug in my room |
| way below is just a small step and |
| I wonder could I ever |
| soar above it or |
| just end devoured |
| as an offering |
| to the ground |
| and the wind |
| claws ruthless through me |
| it can own me or |
| caress me |
| as it feels me in its whim |
| on the ledge my |
| fears can tempt me and |
| they'll whisper my seduction |
| when I'm strong |
| or very weak |
| and my toes |
| have found their |
| spot to nestle on the ledge |
| reminding me when |
| I was small and stood upon |
| the water's edge |
| with bare heels safely in the sand |
| and dad in hand my toes would |
| bravely dab |
| at frightening waves |
| and I think |
| now on the ledge that |
| the exciting things again |
| are down below my toes |
| and I scare the pigeons half |
| to death when |
| I'm out here and just |
| once more |
| I'll curse my heels |
| for being scared |
| © Jon Bohrn (1997) |
