I don’t like heights. And I’m not alone in this. Was Icarus scared silly before he jumped? Did he truly believe he would fly with his wax-glued feathers? I would never have done it …
. . . the edge
of the cliff
wind catches
. . . .my shirt
. . hauls on fabric
pulls down
. .grasses grip
. . . quick look
waves break retreat
rocks black
. . small from here
height distance
pull sight
. . . . to a whirl
. a nauseous
. . . . fear
first published in Silent Things
A Summer Father … poems as deceptively simple and cunning as a sniper’s bullet. This book is a Remembrance Day poppy. Dave Margoshes