Walking My Lines by Perry L. Powell

I am learning to live without you,
like learning to walk a tightrope
baby steps at best, could fall
at any step into dark depths.

But I hold to our love for balance,
to such good memories that remain,
and I try not to let the fear
and the tears toss me over.

Some days the rage hits and I am
like a drunkard staggering
heedlessly forward and the rope
peaks and dips like some cartoon sine
wave gone mad. And I almost plunge.

Some days it’s the guilts that attack
and I stand still as stone till
the rope settles into a quiet
catenary that keeps me balanced
but motionless. Dying in place.

Some days I follow your smile and
I take the one step then the other
and the rope is like a green heart
beat growing fainter on a machine
in the middle of the wide woods

as most of my life falls flat
behind me into these lines.
And I keep walking.

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Perry L. Powell lives near Atlanta, Georgia. His work has appeared in a number of venues including A Hundred Gourds, Aphelion, Atavic Poetry, Dead Snakes, eyedrum periodically, Frogpond, Futures Trading, Haiku Presence, Mobius The Journal of Social Change, Prune Juice, Sparks of Consciousness, The Heron’s Nest, The Innisfree Poetry Journal, The Lyric, and vox poetica.

Photo credit: Terri Malone