Where the Air is Clear
Where the Air is Clear
For all their power, I know my fears are paper thin— wordy distractions from the work of love, wheedling deterrents from the work of play. I’ve tried to crumple them up into balls, tried to send them out with the trash. Always, they make it back. Dirty and determined, they spread across my desk, like things I must fix before the play of living begins. But today, I will play with you, fear. I will paint and paste and make of you a kite. I’ll put myself in the way of wind, watch you lift from the ground of my soul, bound to me still, but only by a string, held in my willing hand.
I’m sure I could have found a better picture of a kite, but since fear often visits me first thing in the morning or when I’m lying in bed, this photo of my son (then age 4, now age 8) flying a kite while wearing a bathrobe seems appropriate.
The Prompt
Let’s talk fear, friends! Let’s coax fear out of its dark corner and expose it to the light of poetry!
Where and how does fear show up in your life today? Where and how did it show up when you were a child?
I’ve heard it said that all “negative” emotional states are just derivatives of fear. Does this ring true to you?
Where do you feel fear in your body? If you were to assign a color and shape to your fear, what would they be?
What do you notice about the fears of the people around you or the world at large?
What lessens your fear? What makes it go soft or still?
These questions—like everything here—are just starting points to play with if you feel so inclined. Off-prompt poems are also welcome! I look forward to reading whatever you choose to share!
P.S. Okay, this is pretty dorky, but it occurred to me the other day how cool it would be if 100 Poems were to reach 100 subscribers in time for it’s 100th day (April 9). There are 83 of you lovely humans at present. If you have a friend who you think would enjoy this community or the poems I send out, please consider sharing a link with them, posting to social media, or restacking a favorite post to Notes. Thank you so much!
Gauge of Brave
.
People say I’m brave
because of what I do
alone, as a woman:
live
camp
cut wood
climb mountains
etc.
But that’s just because
those are
their scary things.
.
A better gauge of brave
is, do I do
my scary things?
.
My mental map contains no
sheer-sided, one-lane roads.
Rattlesnakes close trails
for me, forever. I back up
no trailers, lay no tile,
climb no trees. Pass me
the mic or the ball,
and I will
keep passing.
.
I think I’ll
scare myself
today, just a little.
I might walk into a
room of people in which
I am the only stranger.
I might get into my son’s car.
I might trim my dog’s nails,
one at a time. I will start
with the dew claw
longest neglected.
I feel some fear posting this 😅 but seems like the right thing considering the prompt. Thanks for this encouragement to sit with it tonight. I also love your imagery of the kite!
A tight chest
A dense, cold stone
In the center
Where a warm beating heart should be.
A stone holds fast like a
Bastion
Fortress
Keeping out monsters.
But stones can also crush
Held down by their weight,
I stay frozen.
And the monsters catch me anyway.
But a beating heart,
Can be its own kind of bastion
Holding my monsters gently
In warm, open hands.