Member-only story
Waiting at the Pole
written 7 January 2014
Jan 7, 2022
Pole, Cliff, Land, Sand
And sea.
White, tall, solid, cold
The pole takes your back
like an iron bed.
You are chained, imprisoned;
it is all you knew
before.
Like cold fire, it clings to you
and you to it
Leaving it is ripping a bandaid
on the hair of your arm
Exactly; you fear so much and
in the end it is nothing
Run from the pole
Run for your life
Run with your feet in the dust and sand
Run to the horizon
the broad blue green sea
The cliff, the rocks like teeth
Leap fast: before they bite
You want to live in the light
of a blood-red moon
scythed over the black ocean
under the bright-starred night.
I met him many times at the pole at LAX
Now we are married.
