catching on

that one thing that I loved and couldn’t part with
took charge
and though I carried on as if it hadn’t
it drew me back again and again
and every time I stood by it
I love you I said I will not let you go
or bury you….. remembering you is not enough

I carried you up hills
across fields….. skirted ditches
lost friends along the way
but hung on….. hung on
was the spinning woman….. dangling
by her gritted teeth from the bright trapeze
turning and turning in the dazzle
to the cymbal’s hiss at the end of the drumroll

would I do it again
no….. I need to learn to trust
the radiant absence….. the mark beneath
the mark….. the surfacing of joy
bursting up through water after a dive

I am learning to swim


About Jan Dean

This entry was posted in art, Lost and Found and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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