After all these years of falling, falling,
terrified of my own weight, terrified
of gravity, after all these years of dropping
through the sky, through all these fears
of not good enough, certain I will crash,
I will die, I find myself now wearing
a great white parachute that appeared
as if I were dreaming, to save me.
After all these years harnessed only to fear,
I land gently, as if on a flat green lawn.
And I’m not just safe, I’m smiling.
I try to reason it logically: Air resistance
with a chute is greater than gravity.
But there is no logic here. How
did the parachute appear? I
didn’t even ask to be saved. Here I am,
good enough, two feet on the ground.
After years and years of falling,
I’m okay. I’m wildly okay.
