Down Will Go Dear Heart
Down Will Go Dear Heart
by Laura Summerville Reed
I will never learn to anticipate my own changing
Some, entirely new;
a divorce
a Camelot of more than a quarter century
undone by my own hands.
I didn’t see my hands at work.
Making changes, moving away,
moving aside, moving
other than in the direction I was expected (stasis)
I have become a solitary creature.
I no longer think to check
for the changes in others,
or the lack thereof.
Other changes are not new to me,
only forgotten,
changed for the welfare,
happiness and safety of others,
and now revisited from long past.
I feel compelled to climb.
These lungs that, until recently, released breaths that
issued warnings of impending danger and constant reminders
of care and caution now find themselves filled with the air
at the edge of a rocky precipice.
I climbed and climbed
in my childhood;
trees, creek banks, fences, barns,
rooftops, and sign posts.
I climbed for the joy of it then,
I climbed because I grew up in the country
and there wasn't much else to do.
There is still a great joy in it; cathartic,
cleansing, rebellious joy.
My own.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist
to understand my desire to climb things.
I have new obstacles in my life,
it’s a Freudian attempt at staying on top of them.
Each time I reach the edge of sure and impending death,
I peer over and see I've left my cloven heart
impaled upon the rocky crag below.
I will climb down
and pick up the tender, bifurcated pieces;
on to the next obstacle.
But I’ll need both hands for this task,
so down will go Dear Heart,
once again.
©LSR 2010