When she was a child we played a game:
we pretend to be high on a cliff at the edge
losing grip  – our footing – we plummet
down off the bed, from Everest

At the last minute grabbing hands in mid-air
– in outstretched rescue every sinew, each muscle
straining to hold onto life

She writes that it’s readied her well for the fight,
she loves me, it’s time to let go

Chagall – 2015, revised for 2019

Advertisements