it is cold and i stand on the verge of maybe,
feet curling over the edge.
before me lies the sea
and behind me stone.
before me it is dark and the waves move endlessly.
before me beckons,
because whether the fall kills me or not
i can trust in the water to bring me home.
before me is so wide and distant and alone;
i think it needs a friend.
behind me is the graveyard
where we used to talk through the night,
huddled in the wings of an angel statue-
when we were young
and didn’t yet know the name of fear.
behind me is my childhood,
the weathervane in the shape of a flying dove
that i painted when we were seven,
the braids i tied in your hair when we were eight,
the flower crown of wildflowers i made
when we were nine.
i’ve been here some five thousand times
and i’ve never been able to take the step.
make the jump.
leave the rock and stone behind
for the embrace of the water.
now it’s the last time and i look to the night sky.
all the things that i am stuck in-between –
the water, the rock,
my childhood, my possibilities –
they stare up into the same apologetic sky.
there are no stars,
maybe it has made space for me.
maybe it is waiting for me.
maybe it doesn’t care about the water or the rock.
maybe it won’t tell me how to love.
maybe it’ll teach me how to dream.
i step off the verge of maybe,
my arms reaching out as if to fly.
for a moment the air catches me with outstretched hands,
as if it was holding me
one last time.
then i fall
the water becomes my world entire.
it is cold and i feel infinite.