The Choice

There’s that place,

You know it too —

Or not so much a place,

But an edge between two places

Where I can’t stand

(Because after all,

Feet need a place.)

Feet can’t float or fracture

The way I’m floating and fractured now.

If I can divide myself cleanly,

Straight down the middle with a blade,

Like two halves of a plum,

Then maybe I can stand in both places.

But I don’t know how a heart beats

Without the rest of its parts.

So I’ll have to be bigger, then.

And take up the whole space.

Swallow up both halves inside me.

So that instead of moving

To this room — or that,

I’ll be the whole house.

When I need to, I might

Turn down all the lights,

Not budge from the same worn chair.

That still holds me like a womb.

But other times — like now —

I might climb all the way to the roof

To get better look at the stars.

The pitch is so steep

That it makes my heart leap.

Not because I might fall,

But because I know I’m free

To throw myself over the edge.

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