A Story or Two to Tell

Once you lived inside.
WIndows allowed a certain amount of voyuerisn
to a world that did not seem safe,
a captureing of light and color,
but not too much.
You knew where the light came from
and nothing from outside could sneak up on you.
You were missing much and you knew it,
But everything’s a tradeoff and you chose yours.

But you were made for narrowness, for smallness.
Maybe not even for safety, as much as you crave it.
Your blood has a yearning, and so you climbed out of the window
and the world was and is as scary as you believed it to be,
but you never regretted climbing into the light,
even if it mean you were much smaller in a larger world
with horizons and paths that had no end. Even if it mean
there were places to get lost in and more uncertainty
than you imagined possble.

Had you stayed, you might have felt safer.
perhaps even been safer. You would have had less bruises.
Your soul would be without the scars that make you
interesting or ugly, depending on your point of view.
You would not have learned how to dance on vapor,
or slay dragons. You would not have chanced love
or faith or friendships, not even with yourself.
it would have been a safer world, inside that window,
and at times I miss it. But had I stayed I would be as old as I am
with no stories worth telling,

About this poem.

Spawned by a therapy session. Inspired by my Grandaddy Atkins. A little autobiographical. We are our stories.

The picture is from a Barn in nearby Poultney, Vermont.

Tom