Walking the 12th Street Bridge
is disconcerting, perilous: the drop
some sixty feet to the ground,
fifteen- to twenty-foot tall spikes
of recently-cut trees perforating
the air beneath the bridge deck.
Every few feet I stop, look down.
I look over the side briefly
to avoid vertigo, to evade my fear
not of falling but of being pushed.
There’s no escaping this fear.
Defenestration is throwing
(or pushing) a person out a window;
what’s the term for throwing
(or pushing) a person off a bridge?
Wait — more than I need to know.
Fear, I’ve told you more
than I need to tell, more
than you need to know. But the view!
An escape: name the fear, confront
the fear, walk through it, dare it away.
I cross the 12th Street Bridge
to safety, return to the comforts
of words and dictionaries.
The view was spectacular.
Andrew Shattuck McBride
NaPoWriMo 2014 ~ Day 12