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.
