Floating By The Lamppost

I had a dream.

In the dream, city streets spread out in all directions around me.

A black lamppost, unlit, shot up into the gloomy grey sky on my right.

A breeze swept under my feet.

I felt my feet leave the ground.

My hands grasped that lamppost, holding tightly,

and the wind kicked my feet into the air—

once,

twice,

three times!

*

First came amazement.

The joy of having an invisible power lift your weight like you were formless.

Second came fear.

What if I let go? Where would the wind take me? Would it be safe? Could I come back?

Third was the feeling of censure.

I could sense the skeptical eyes, the narrowing of town house windows, the bustling of the woman with her stroller as each avoided looking toward my spectacle.

*

"It's not me!" I cried desperately. "It's not me!"

*

And like the shadow of your hand following itself,

or like ripples of smoke,

I saw the spiral of wind rustling,

gathering up the cracked withered leaves—

spiraling once, twice—

coming towards me across the concrete,

and lifting my feet up once again.

I saw the wind pick up a big man, and I wanted to shout,

"See! It's not just me!"

but the wind set him down,

and picked up me.

*

In gusts and billows,

like walking on the moon,

I saw the sidewalk recede and rise

to meet my feet.

Over and over.

And as I floated,

my stomach clenched

and released.

Exhilaration and freedom.

Fear and the unknown.

*

I couldn't trust the wind to carry me.

I couldn't follow the wind like a feather.

I didn't know how high or far

it would've taken me away.

But sometimes I wonder, what if I had?