Tightrope

It started on the ground, a
Long distance teasing.
Betcha can't!
I so can.
Betcha won't.
Maybe we shouldn't.

I climbed the ladder, laughing, so
full then, of freedom and fearless euphoria.

He was more hesitant.

Maybe --I don't
know, it's stupid, it's
dangerous, yeah, ok,
let's do it.

He climbed the ladder as well.

At the top, we faced each other, across all the
clean, open space, so far free of fear and crowding memories.

I will if you will, arms
Outstretched, one hesitant foot on the rope. Just a
rope, what am I thinking, but...

He waved and smiled.

I swayed in free space, deep breath.

I don't care, he said, but
I saw him glance down, although he would deny it.

Come on, he said, I will if you will.

So I stepped again, swaying
Gently, trying not to let my
Knees shake.

He was so far away.

In the middle, he said, I'll meet
you in the middle.

Three times I froze, petrified,
fear sweeping over me like vertigo nausea, leaving me
sweating, wondering what the hell
I was doing on a damn tightrope, me
so scared of heights.

But each time I froze, he
coaxed, cajoled, scolded, all love and
fire and confident promise.

Meet me! I'm right here. Don't stop. Run
if you can, it's better that way. Come to
me.

Finally, so near, I could see his arms
outstretched, his heart beat
raising his shirt in rhythm, the
love on his face a warm sun to calm me, finally I
burst the last chains of fear
on my heart, and I ran, not looking down, just
leapt forward and

he


let


me


fall



dark rushing by
my ears, followed
by a soft,

whispered

sorry....