Thinking today
of the cave high in the cliff
above Frijoles Canyon,
how I needed to climb
140 feet straight up
to see it,
how I tore off
up the trembling ladders
bearing my fear of heights
on my back the whole way,
facing into the rock
as I rose
until I faced the scooped out
back wall of the cave,
walked to the kiva
and looked inside, how I then
sat for a while looking out
until
I had to turn and step
into space backward
140 feet in the air
to begin the descent,
how I had to prepare
to fall, to fall, to fall
just that one
first step and how I felt
upon finding it —
and what I felt like
once back on the floor of
Frijoles Canyon,
how I ran back up the trail
to the parking lot — thinking today
of how it can be that
once upon a time
I took my fear, bundled it up,
took it with me to the place of fear
and did not die —
how is it that this escapes me daily,
how is it that I cannot
stop being a coward?
