Poetry

Hanging

The bars from which I hang are growing
Further from the ground and have been greased
Over the time that my fingers have enveloped them
And were left unreleased, extending to my arms
The perpetual muscle to cling, and sending
Perspiration to my sweaty palms as I have not been found,
And there is no soul around to help me down,
While freezing rain weighs heavily upon my shoulders,
A hot tub teasing my desires rests beside me on the ground,
But does not abide me while I can no longer decide,
My mind enticed potentially away from despair,
In a matter of an instant my world disappear with a
Single readjustment of the fingers, as they slip,
Not one of them lingers behind to remain on the bars
That remind me that I must again be strong,
So easy to turn from them, but easy is wrong
When with it proceeds an ending that doesn’t belong,
Because goodbyes like this, last only so long
Before all that is abandoned follows the water
Down the drain, and like a train it is connected
To everything else that remains, until the final bar is met,
And with, or without someone it is set
For the hand that strives for it, and cannot ignore it,
Because that is where the ending is over, and
Makes amends to the agony of the past,
Where the future begins.
-Kim Markham

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