If I had courage, I could do anything-
in poetry, I can do anything-
in theory, I could be courageous so I could do anything-
like,
climb a mountain,
mountains,
crawl, climb up
trees
scale the
leaves
until I’m at the
tippy
top,
reaching through the branches to help up another before they
drop-
drop,
into the below, where, if I were courageous
I would surely go,
diving into the deep blue turning
darker and
darker, the pink of the sun gleaming above
no longer,
no longer, as I fall-
if I were courageous, I would embrace the fall, not,
curl up into a little helpless ball and, like hail, bounce across the earth.
Insignificant.
Broken.
Small.
No, if I were courageous, I would spread my arms out wide and
glide,
like a sugar glider, flying squirrel a bird, into the
sky,
not worried that the hawk would spot me for its prey,
if I were brave, my posture would say
no
way,
I would
scare it away,
not a big bird could sway
me,
not a gust of wind could shake
me,
if I were courageous, I would be stronger than
all
of
that.
Above
all of that,
floating in space my voice not mere
static,
my words crisp and clear,
hello?
earth?
I’m out here,
do you hear?
Hello?
If I were courageous,
I would say,
hello,
my o,
rebounding,
bouncing, not
shrinking,
slinking back into its home, nestling into my throat,
sometimes I
talk
too
much,
but when it matters, I can’t
talk
enough, eyes-
they are no less piercing than knives,
but with my hand held
high
over my head like a shield I could
fly
again.
If I were courageous, I would never touch the
ground
again.
Again.
Again I play back every
mistake, every
error,
if I were courageous, I would make plenty of errors and say,
hey, it’s
ok,
not everything rests in an
A,
A+, I don’t have to do
so
much,
too
much-
but when I think like that, something inside me turns to
mush,
everything,
I can’t do
anything,
anything-
if I were courageous, I could do
anything.
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