Share   Print  Save   Become a Fan

The Woman Calling
Isolated, alone, out of kilter
With the schoolyard world of competition,
Bullying, cruelty and indifference,
I retreated into a safe book world.
The lady of the Lake Isle of Avalon,
Guinevere, and The Lady of Shallot
Are forever etched in my romantic
Imagination, my constant refuge
From the reality of my grey world
Of duty, safety and conformity.

Then I saw you, slender fingers touching
Your hair self consciously as we glanced
Across the chasm forever between us.
I, looking down at the torrent raging,
Smiled and enfolded you in the fragile
Tissue of my poetic images,
Securely held in imagination.

But now, now I see you on the rope bridge,
Swaying above the torrent filled chasm,
Calling, ever calling to me to cross.
And I know I should mount the swaying bridge,
Walk surely, not looking down at the torrent
Waiting to engulf us if I falter.
Yet I am afraid, so very afraid
To take the step to come to you and life
Real, dangerous, not simply imagined.

And so I stand in the grey silvery
Twilight, like Browning's Andrea, a half man,
Always afraid to reach beyond my grasp.
I'll turn from the chasm and walk away,
Knowing that I will hear your voice, calling,
Ever calling on the biting south wind
Of perpetually bitter regret.