Emily Winters                                                                                                                

Freefall

Bare feet holding on for dear life,

Skimming over the loose pebbles lodged in my throat;

Unveiled palms leaving trails on the grass,

A pathway that will be gone by morning,

Two lines of blood that no one will see…

Rips in the fabric that was laid on your hands,

Smoothed with intentions as fine as silk…

I can smell the pipes rusting red,

The pipes bringing the tears to the surface.

Parallel – two tracks running home,

The rivets nailed into my head;

Straight to the heart,

Straight to the moon!

The rocket follows a trail of blood blazed so many, many years ago.

Hanging on, hang on –

Your life-line frayed in the slowly decaying sun…

The precipice teeters and the whole.

Thing.

Threatens.

                                                                           To

    F

         a

              l

                        l…

If it did,

no-one would hear the pop of our ears – the bang of the shot –  the squish of our brains;

all hidden as the rocket touches down on the moon and you,

you are buried under the rubble as you let go of it all…