The Opposite of the Fear of Falling
Memories like sparkling tethers
bind me to my boyhood home
my first date with each wife
my car parked in the west lot
With the merest scent of cut grass
I’m tugged back to the side yard
playing catch with my young father
as twilight turns trees to shadow
But I feel these tethers
growing dim and fraying
no longer grounding
me to my identity
It’s the opposite of the fear of falling
I’m afraid of floating— of fading away
(For Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt and LP’s Visual Poetry Prompt, almost.)
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
… my first date with each wife?
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yes, I’ve had multiple wives and I can remember first date with each of them.
LikeLike
The fear of fading and floating away are my lakeside shadows ..
LikeLiked by 1 person
I must be on the right track then.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes .. a shadowy track ..
LikeLiked by 1 person
Indeed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
With the merest scent of cut grass… isn’t it something how scents affect our memory.
LikeLiked by 2 people
It sure is!
LikeLike
You express this fear…beautifully!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you very much. At some point all that’s left of us are going to be these poems.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think about that too..I wonder if my last poem will be a high note or a low one:)
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m sure yours will be brilliant.
LikeLiked by 1 person