poetry · Recent · Writing


Swinging from the chandelier;

it seemed like such fun when I was a kid.

I’d watch it in swashbuckling and swordfighting

scenes–Gene Kelly’s performance in Singin’ in the Rain

or in The Three Musketeers.

Errol Flynn as Robin Hood, or Captain Blood.

Any number of films.

What those films don’t show is how easy it is to lose control.

Gripping the metal, trying to find a hold

between the crystal prisms

you’re as likely to fall and crack your skull

on the flagstones as you are to swing in

and save the day.

So I’m here hanging from the chandelier

wondering why I jumped from stable ground

but the ground was never stable anyway so

what difference does it really make?

The rock and sway under my feet

has always made me queasy.

At least while I’m swinging through

the air with feigned ease the bump

and jerk of the quaking earth

can’t be felt.

Swinging from this chandelier

my happy energy spilling out

contagious and making those around

me laugh

at me at least, maybe not with me.

Swinging from this chandelier and

downing one more shot,

just one more drink

and underneath that happy energy

I’m stretched taut

like the chain-wrapped wire

straining under the weight of

me as my grip slips and the whole thing

threatens to crash down again

like my life has crashed down again

so many times.

but maybe if I let go of the swinging chandelier

I won’t have to go back on unstable ground.

Maybe this time, I’ll fly.

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