Dear Fear, father of worry and terror, panic and dread,
there are surely more species of you than
there are of the widespread orchid.
You are equally at home in the swamp
or the field, in the aisles of the store or under the bed.
I have seen your tracks everywhere I’ve ever been.
Like the ocelot, you come out in darkness,
ready to fight, to mark what is yours. Like the owl,
you are silent, you thrive on surprise.
You camouflage yourself as an octopus does,
changing the color and feel of your skin.
And then when I have forgotten you,
you slip into the pool of my thoughts
like an otter—ready to play again.
Sometimes you arrive like an orb—
sure I can say you don’t exist, but there you are.
Is it true, what they say about you?
That you kick harder than the ostrich,
run faster, too, and enjoy asking people
to race? Fear, I don’t want to race with you.
And I know you won’t just go away.
I’ve noticed you stay with me when I’m up all night,
I’ve felt you there when things don’t seem right,
almost like a father, like a friend.
*This is the O poem for Lian Canty’s Alphabet Menagerie, http://www.alphabetmenagerie.com
I like that fear’s incarnations are generally natural, the orchid, ocelot, ostrich, octopus, etc., because it seems that’s where fear resides — in the world around us. And I suppose those shapes are prompted by the picture. Still, the ending pushes fear into action, not shape, and that too, I like, even better.