Two Ways

Inside me, in here, it feels,

the fear, like

a glove worn on the inside,

sized one size too small.

The effect keeps me from moving.

I can move, and I don’t

move. I stay. The pinch is a lit­tle worse

when I move, at first.

Still, the ten­sion ebbs, or

I for­get for a minute the tightness.

I think this is how nor­mal feels, in

my for­get­ting. My stom­ach hurts.

Or, I move. I don’t think. It

is sud­den and beyond me.

I am mov­ing and it is

as sim­ple as that.

A noise­less shift in me

and the hard yel­low line of fear,

the cage of it, dis­solves, shat­ters, falls away

leav­ing harm­less scat­tered, yel­low Autumn leaves.