Deep Journey

 

 

Some poems take you by surprise,
stun you with kaleidoscope of color.
Other poems take you down paths
you’re afraid of treading,
so you sit, pen in hand,
staring at a blank page,
feeling the pen’s smooth barrel
between your fingers
afraid to plunge so deep inside.
You watch your words circle the opening
to the place you do not want to go,
like ripples on the surface
of darkest water.

Then suddenly
courage comes from somewhere
and you plunge in
pen first—
water singing in your ears,
but you don’t open your eyes,
and you can’t open your mouth,
just feel the cold pressure over all your skin
as you push down and down
until at bottom,
you touch.
There’s no monster there,
and no treasure,
not even one pearl.

You push up
lungs bursting
through the icy blackness
and your own tears,
till you break the surface,
gasping, exhausted,
yet somehow calm in the knowledge
that you’ve done it,
gone under
without turning aside,
and come back.