long I dangled from
the rope of fear I wrought
I never looked down
I never looked down
until that day in the park
that day walking the dog
turning the day's events
over in my heart
cooking them over my heart's fire
for their nourishment

some small spark from the cooking fire
some small spark of courage
lent me by that fire
and encouraged by the wind
soughing through the trees
and the song of the cicadas
rattling and scratching the wind
some small spark of courage
let me look down at last
to see my feet but three inches
above
the Ground of My Being
above
the Ground of My Being
above
the Ground of My Being

there, near the cooking fire,
lay a knife
a knife to cut that rope
that rope of fear I'd wrought
and dangled with so long
and when I was done
I felt that Ground for the first time
the first time
the first time
in this existence


Roberta Compton Rainwater
c. 2009/2014