It could have happened in the Mexican bay,
tethered to a rope not likely to stay,
dropping with the day’s latest news
stuffed in your ankle for support.
It could have happened in To-hell-u-ride,
when you nearly hit that chair on the rise,
hurling yourself on a mission
everyone knew you should abort.
It could have happened on the harbor ice,
where disaster struck not just once but twice,
all because you needed to show
you could stand where no one else dared.
It could have happened that long dreadful night,
when your world exploded with fire and fright,
separating fingers from spine,
past all doctor’s skill to repair.
It could have happened on that Wyoming cliff,
or from that car in Lincoln before the shift,
or that night in Columbus
where gunshots rang out while sleeping.
It could have happened in so many ways,
on so many lines on so many days.
But all were shadows, so stop it
because mights are not worth keeping.
— ❧ —
Poetry Kick
Each day I try to write something in addition to the book I’m working on. Sometimes it’s about a place I recently visited—typically from a hike. Sometimes it’s about the writing process and how projects, like the book, are going. And sometimes, it’s a poem.
This one I started a few months back and felt like finishing this morning. With the fifth stanza, I wanted to increase the pacing of worried thoughts for a moment before pulling back on them quickly in the final stanza. I debated adding more stanzas, listing more events and worries, but I wanted to reflect how fast that kind of inner dialogue can move—and this felt like the right size for this poem.
For other works, head over to In Verse.