The edge is a map. A misstep, a missile. Sinister to touch, siren to call. Imagined in storm, on the stair in the dark. Might lead to a table. To a cellar. To a stall. Could be the answer, searched for or not. Surrounded by promise. Hidden by hail. Stacked to the brim so the stepping is stable. So the head is held high. So the smile sincere. So the heart hears itself over the din of the warning. So the heart takes you faster to where you are going. As the map you are holding turns into a bird who lifts off the edge as though it were paper. As though it were easy.

Karen Neuberg is a Brooklyn-based poet. Her full length collection, Pursuit, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books. Her latest chapbook is the elephants are asking (Glass Lyre Press, 2018).

Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash

<<             >>