Fuel

Only slowly have I become aware of the enormous reservoir

that floats above me like a helium ship

vast, volatile impossible

I am Astonished

I’d have noticed it years ago, but

I’ve only recently developed the habit

of looking up

Like the water towers in every small town

there’s a name writ in large letters across its curved side

My name.

My volatility is contained there,

my Impossible.

This is the floating reservoir of my anger,

Incendiary rage over anything I’ve ever felt betrayed by,

dis-empowered by, diminished, abused, whether

personal, global, direct or witnessed,

small or large, significant or not

all of it,

in delicate, breath-taking balance with

my Joy, my Love,

my too-few moments of ring-toned humility

 

I’ve stored it all

Up there.

I’d no idea I had this much fuel to work with.