What Worries

Awakened in a cold sweat, I was,
with a nightmare about my old nightmares,
with a bone-bending fear of falling
in reverse:
A fear of rising at the expense of myself—
in spite of myself, even—
and a lock upon my lips, my teeth,
opened only by silence or acceptance
by either or both

Today is like the evening following a hurricane and
the morning after climbing a big snowy mountain
all wrapped up together;



Today is like holding onto the side of a hot-air balloon over
miles of jagged rock
after shadow-boxing a strobe light all night the day before
Today is strange and tired and tiring

but here’s the thing:

I’m worried about tomorrow.

Stillness scares me a lot more
than hot-air balloons and hurricanes

I was nothing innocent when I got here
but I wasn’t guilty either
Perhaps I was a witness

I’ve gotten dirty in the process
I’ve seen breaking and blood and more than I wanted to know.

Though I have to admit—it came with caution tape,
I had my crossroads and all

Yet, still, I thought poverty would have been
uglier than this
I thought maladjusted children would break me
quicker than
the concern of
too many keys in hand and
the drunkenness of knowing it

because
at least poor people laugh freely.



Yet, still, a stubborn light maintains,
flashes in and out, on and off,
remembers itself and I follow it,
I remember it
and
against every better sense
I believe it.