Being born is like being
pushed off a building
that is so high, you can't see
the bottom - but people whisper
'certain death.'
Like being one of those goslings -
in the David Attenbrough thing-
except we won't learn to fly.
Freefall is a high.
It grips you tight, red-wristed
in present tense, lets
you feel nothing
but sensation. Allows you to
forget, at first, about the end.
Falling is breath-
taking,but you kind of get used to it.
I fell into being - an accident
born haphazard and screaming
I keep falling through the net
of years. On the way down (or up
depending on your position)
I grab on to things - people, ideas,
a nice leather jacket,
in the hope they'll slow me down.
Though I know the extra weight,
will betray me, I drag them
with me for a while.
I train my grip and can
hold on really tight.
And I hit things too, sometimes,
people, ideas, holes.
some cling, some don't.
I joined the circus to learn to defy
gravity but instead it taught me
how to use it, fall better,
and not to look down.
And we're all falling together,
different speeds, different heights,
in every direction
scared.
Avoiding any jagged edges that
-
may break our fall too early,
hurling rocks at each other
to clear our own paths,
or just to kill time.
The seconds rush past
ruffling our hair.
And mostly when I pass
others I smile (or else
am told to cheer up),
pretend I am not scared,
make a joke about something sad,
talk about the weather,
make my excuses
and slip away.
