NaPoWriMo: Day 28

Second poem of the day, taking Jo Bell’s prompt: what are you afraid of? Really? Write it. The last line of A.E Stalling’s Fear of Happiness informs this piece:

‘It’s that the ledge itself invents the leap.’ I’ve also stolen the sonnet form. I wanted this piece to read like the next of a set.

 

It’s that the ledge itself invites the leap

that makes me wary of the thrill and fall

of rollarcoasters, planes skidding clouds;

my first flight I was certain sure

that my seat alone would plummet from the sky.

Walking miles to gain a mountain height, I’m giddy

tearful at the top where winds rake you

like a gardener piling up dead leaves,

and as I peer at the edge that steadily

divides land and air, I’m more afraid than ever

that I will lose my head, think I can soar.

As a child I’d look at the short space

between me and a mirror and see

between us a millions miles of height.

 

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