A Level Anchor

Arms out in a T-shape, I walk stable as hell across a tight rope;
it’s new,
it’s old,
I should have mastered this prance,
but today eleven years later,
after a full thirty days of getting back on and sliding right off,

I
am
back
baby.

I could jog across the thin line barefoot, if I wanted.
I could skip, prance, chasse, leap,
for I am stable again.

A pocket of fear floats by,
warning me that on any given day I could be flat on the ground,
fallen,
unsteady.

I look at the pocket and smile,
nodding, laughing, thinking,
yeah but it’s today
and
today
I’m steadier than a phlebotomist’s hand drawing blood from a tiny vein.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s