leap

or i'll push you, he said, i think, between things, beneath everything, yesterday.

when my boss called up and said i should decide if i want to stay past january. but before that, too, when i was praying all last weekend in virginia about who i am and what i should do.

i was crouched to jump anyways, but i was fearing the motion, i was doubting myself, i was afraid of my false intuition.

but this morning i didn't have to go to work. and that felt strange. i emailed my resume out two places - maybe i'll be mary poppins soon - and i vaccumed my room for the first time in months. there were lots of paper slivers on the floor, and pennies.

i read eudora welty and planned my second-to-last english class. and i journaled furiously on my own time. i didn't fight with anyone in my family. but i fought myself a lot. and i think i tried to press myself through a wrought iron gate a few times, one that is locked, and

i always get hurt when i do that.

in any case. its late.

i don't know what is coming next, but that's ok.

i said: push me to the lip of true life, along the edge above the abyss, i want to dance there, on one foot.

i said: this is all too routine, mix some things up, let me move around a bit, see something else.

i said: i don't believe in what i am doing in this office, in this room with the brick walls and the bamboo wallpaper, in my corner with hardly a desk.

he said: leap, or i'll push you.

and he did.