When You Are Frightened

January 10, 2014

~

 

When you are frightened,

you feel the heat inside your chest.

Sparks burn all nerve endings there

like the quick touch of the back of your hand

on the top of the oven

when you reach in to baste the roasting hen.

~

Quick fire

~

When you are scared,

your heart quickens its beat.

It has moved closer to the skin

and declared its presence.

You feel its pulsing in living worn fingertips.

Short throbbing beats in each

like drum rhythms of marching soldiers

waiting for the signal to fight

~

or flee

~

When you are fearful,

your eyes grow round.

You without thought trade a smaller for a larger lens

to bring in more detail.

You open wide its aperture

so as to let in more light,

to know more of that which scares

~

to know more of what you are up against

~

When you are frightened,

all sound is clear, sharp.

Now.

In your face.

Glass pieces crack,

as bike tires do not bypass

broken bottles carelessly strewn along the street.

You hear each snap.

Each sounds as a lit firecracker on the New Year.

~

Dissonant noises escort fear.

Your ears hear sound within no sound.

~

By presence or letter

I will try to bring only a soothing voice.

I will try to melt the glass.

I will open the shutters to see more light.

I will try to calm the heart

and cool the touch.

~