
If I could muster up the strength
to hoist myself to the top of that wall
and take just a peek over the top,
I wonder: would I have the courage to climb over if I saw-
Stacks of unfolded laundry, unscrubbed floors, and bedsheets draping off unmade beds,
Half written poems and stories scribbled on paper napkins, and calendar dates crossed out, left empty?
Would time stand still, or march right on past my worn out body and decomposing brain,
with its nose held high in the air?
Babes and faithful mate bat uneasy eyes my direction.
Just thinking of the wall is a powerhouse workout.
Just wondering what is on the other side, a labyrinth with no exit.
If only the power of the seed that fuels this infirmity would change its mind.
Should my strength allow me just one small peek,
I might shudder at what I see.
