To stand on or to run away.
It is an amputee, a cripple
Born of regret and pride
Lost time and rash decisions.
It is like an infant
Dependent and needy.
So we feed it to stop
Its crying, its tantrum
Its constant need that makes me
Want to hurl it across the room
Hear it thud against the wall
Watch it slide, neck broken,
To the floor.
This lie without a foot is in my head;
Hard to shrug this image, this deformity
Has a life of its own,
Breeding other hobbling lies.
Yet I settle in, and breathe you in,
Feel you near me, next to me, replacing
The nameless, faceless need. My hope,
My Maybe has your face and your name, and it is
For this Maybe, I cup my hands and hold this lie.
(c)Kindra McDonald
published in Skipping Stones 2007
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