Fault Line

I know that no one can predict an earthquake,
but there is a fault-line forming at my feet,
and I have a funny feeling
that some time soon
I might be sucked into a sinkhole.

The ground will start to shimmy and shake.
I will press my feet firmly into the floor
but I’ll be thrown off balance,
left and right,
and left again
grasping, and clawing for something
to hold onto,
something solid, something, still.
My arms flailing,
my head spinning,
my heart racing.
There is nothing that can steady me now.
My whole world is shaking, shifting,
and I can hear it creeping, coming.
I can hear it rumbling.
Somewhere just outside of view,
someplace just below my feet,
I feel it.
I can hear it crawling nearer,
snapping, popping, cracking open.
I can taste it.
A bitterness rising up like bile.
I want to swallow it down but
my mouth is dry.
My skin is crawling, cold and clammy,
I cannot seem to catch my breath.
I’m drowning in mid-air.

I know that I can’t predict an earthquake.
But there is a fault-line forming at my feet.
And I have a funny feeling that
some time soon I will be staring down,
into a sinkhole of uncertainty.
A bottomless chasm of something I can’t see,
an endless abyss
of change.

And when the shaking stops
I will have to decide,
if I should turn around and run home
to cling to my creature comforts…
Or look over,
lean in,
and leap.

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