Edge
When you’ve seen over the edge, can you ever come back? That’s what
I wonder. Is that
why my mother used to tell me to step back from edges of
subway platforms? Not because I might
fall
But because I might
not.
I might look over the edge
and come back again,
never to forget the wooden planks, litter, rats, the sights on the
other side.
I don’t just remember the sight, I feel it, I know it too
intimately.
I’ve heard “you got lucky” too
many times.
I’m alive now, can I escape
my almosts?
