September 3, 2016

I have a friend who thinks that she can fly.
She lacks a great machine or feathered wings,
but she has become blind to un-warped things.
I’m so afraid that someday she will try
to leap out of my grasp into the sky.
She’s jealous of balloons unbound by string;
I hold her hand and listen as she sings
of daydream lives, the fear behind her eyes.

I hold her down and tie ropes ‘round her arms;
In all of her despair, she can’t believe
that gravity would strike to scrape her knees.
I grip that rope so she cannot drift far --
I won’t let go, will not let her leave me --
while longingly she looks up at the stars.

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