| ledges |
|
| I have found |
| my new-found |
| fascination with
the ledge |
| that's on the
forty-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) |
