I live next to a deep hole
A yawning cavern
Waiting for swallow me if I get too near the edge.
I back away
Every day I need to watch my footing
Am I too close?
Will I fall in?
And I know it’s a bottomless hole.
I look at other people’s lives
And don’t see any caverns.
All right, maybe a dip in the terrain
Or a short tunnel with light at the end.
And I want that life!
I need to get away from the Grand Canyon,
But I can’t move.
One day I notice a structure
And curious, I go near
And circle around it
And recognize it as a catapault.
I agonize. I fantasize.
And one day I climb on it
And let circumstances fling me away.
The terror I feel in midair is debilitating
There’s nothing to grab on to
And when I land the pain is excruciating.
But I think I‘ve left the cavern behind.
And I resolutely set my face toward a new tomorrow.
Until I notice a crack opening up from the original canyon
That enters the edges of my new territory
I try to fill it with anything I can
Activities, jobs, men . . .
Where are the men?
They’ll stop the cavern from opening up.
Now I’m living on the edge of a great abyss
And I want to run away.
But it will follow me – this empty, gaping hole.
So what can I do?
Is there no escape?
I hear a whisper in my ear, “I’ll fill it for you.”
But I don’t see the source of that voice.
Written for a friend a year after her divorce.