How I made friends with fear
The four of us dress in stiff coats
to visit our father at his office, travel
by train to Chicago, the seventeenth floor
of a skyscraper wedged between
reachless towers of darkened metal.
A hushed ride in a mirrored elevator,
plush carpet, we gather near his desk.
Before a glass wall
I stand apart from the other three,
eleven years old, the eldest
and by birthright the chieftain of our tribe.
My sisters watch for signs–how to act?
But my breath catches at the top
of my lungs as larger people
shuffle papers in the outer office–
I wish I were alone to practice
at being afraid, to carry out my solo
rituals in the basement of my house,
a place that draws me with an unseen cord
downwards. In the dark I walk
backwards in a circle, round and round
three times to conjure up the Devil,
who I hope will rise from the black
smudge on my soul to fill up the pitch air.
I know all about God the Father
and the Blessed Virgin from weekend
migrations to Our Lady of the Wayside.
I want to understand that thorn in God’s side,
not the thorns in his crown.
I seek the one who gave Jesus hell in the desert.
If I am to be an implacable
ice goddess in this City of Restraint,
I’ll need to test my courage
against a hailstorm of fear.
These thoughts hover on the edge
of my mind as I look out the thick glass
to the specks of people below,
watch toy cars inch along the asphalt,
wonder what it would feel like to jump, or fly.
***
Balanced On the Edge 
Wow…this is great, Christine. It also scared me a little bit, so big applause for moving the reader! I can see the eleven-year-old girl with all of those thoughts, and it really gripped me.
The last stanza is very strong, too. That’s the part where I felt the girl wasn’t “the bad seed,” but just a sad, scared little girl. I might be misinterpreting that, but it’s the impression I receive from either “jump or fly.” It is left open for interpretation, though, so I like that.
Another thing this poem makes me think of is that odd feeling I get when on an edge, a cliff, or looking through glass from high above a city. For just a second, I get that urge to jump. Do you know what I mean, or am I just crazy? Anyway, this poem also made me think of that feeling.
Very strong, Christine! The title is also great.
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(Re)captures the fears of our eleven year old selves, which now seem strange to us.
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Julie, no you’re not crazy! Didn’t Poe call that feeling “the imp of perversity”? Thanks for your close reading, and for the comments.
I think that’s what I was trying to do, Philip, go back to that place of irrational fear, which still sometimes affects me, and I think, many adults.
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Oh, this is tremendous. It’s tight. Distilled, like the fear of heights, the wo/ander at F/fathers. The awareness of isolation in a family. Amazing, truly. (I felt no fear at reading of early rituals; I tried them, too, as a pre/early teen.)
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Unsettling and edgy, Christine. Like Julie, I experienced vertigo – and feel exposed and uneasy.
These are my two favourite stanzas:
“I want to understand that thorn in God’s side,
not the thorns in his crown.
I seek the one who gave Jesus hell in the desert.
If I am to be an implacable
ice goddess in this City of Restraint,
I’ll need to test my courage
against a hailstorm of fear.
These thoughts hover on the edge
of my mind as I look out the thick glass
to the specks of people below,
watch toy cars inch along the asphalt,
wonder what it would feel like to jump, or fly.”
And I love this:
“the eldest
and by birthright the chieftain of our tribe.”
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christine, this brings me back to all my childhood anxieties and the feeling that everything and everyone around you is a thousand times bigger than they really are. love, love, love, the last stanza! i can see the girl, i can see the glass, the specks of people and the toy cars. beautiful!
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This is wonderful. I love the way the diction moves between the adult narrator and the child narrator.
I know all about God the Father
and the Blessed Virgin from weekend
migrations to Our Lady of the Wayside.
Love the child’s voice in “I know all about God the Father,” embedded in the adult’s remembrance of “migrations.”
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Christine – That’s one helluva coming to grips with fear, whoa!
Wouldn’t we all be lucky to have a place to practice our being afraid, facing our trepidations. Unfortunately, they come at us real-time, in the company of others — often without warning.
I like the boldness that rises in this piece as one reads deeper into it.
Really kick-ass — and I understand that jump or fly quandary… 😉
…rob
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Yes, this is disturbing but very believable. You’ve harnessed fear here all right and passed it on to the reader. Very well done. I love the ending.
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Beautiful narration. Facing fear is the best way of overcoming it!
Great ending. Keep writing…
illuminated fear susurrates
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This is a very fine poem, Christine – so well conceived and beautifully executed. A definite keeper as is!
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I like it
“thoughts on the edge of my mind” suggesting the edge of the abis.
“a place that draws me with an unseen cord
downwards. In the dark I walk
backwards in a circle, round and round
three times to conjure up”
and this does point to much more than hiding from fear of heights…it is a powerful image.
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Bravo. The atmosphere is one that I perfectly identify with. No skyscrapers in Maseru, though. But the rest is spot on. Good job, C.
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glad you guys liked this one. I was afraid I might have sounded like one crazy kid. 😛
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no worries: you can join the crazy kid club. 🙂
i like how the narrator tries to figure out what might have prepared her for this moment and i like how the she exaggerates things in her mind, very childlike.
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only the aftermath of fear can allow for such unbridled indestructibility,, and if i am correct,, that is what i hear ringing out in the final line……. excellent piece christine… i miss you speaking them to me tho’…..
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Yeah, you’ve captured and recorded fear here, I like the way the mind wanders to the basement and then back to the seventeenth floor. Beautifully written!
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This is something that moved me so much I’d like to respond:
A Larger Size
The buttons on my sweater
strain at the thread.
This is partly because I am
growing, but also
because I am scared of moving on
to a larger size.
That big-girl world
runs rampant with responsibility.
To hang from the side of a
skyscraper, cleaning mirror glass,
to stare at myself
rub splotches made by birds
breathe the cold clouds
from my lips.
This is a balancing act
I’d rather skip out on-
shimmy down the tower and
crawl underground,
allow the buttons to burst
from their holes.
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Holly, I feel so honored that you have shared this searing poem in the comments section. I need to post it to my blog, it’s so good! What amazing metaphors, and raw, honest emotions.
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It was completely inspired by yours. I love yours. I should have said that. “I wish I were alone to practice/ at being afraid” wow. powerful really. I was thinking maybe we could do some response poems like Dana and Nathan are doing. I like that idea. Do you care if we’re “copy cats”? It’d really be a good way to keep me writing through this last part of the semester when I will be so busy with school stuff. Not that I’m using you. I like your work. I thought maybe we could share and collaborate too, and get together to work since we live so close. We still gotta get together, seriously.
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A wonderful poem christine. I love the line about “the thorn in God’s side.”
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Thanks, Nathan.
Holly, your poem is so good, so authentic. I can’t wait to respond to it.
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The thorn in God’s side – wonderful description.
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