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
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.