The Edge of Forward

It begins as a hush —

a silence that isn’t silence,

but the breath the world takes

before it decides to move again.

_______

The asphalt tilts forward.

an ancient spine bending under time,

and I feel something deep beneath it —

the pulse of everything that ever dared to change.

_______

Even the wind holds its breath.

Even the birds hang midair.

This is the part of the story

where the ground pretends it’s still there,

but it’s already falling away.

_______

The road narrows, then curves.

like a thought I’m not ready to finish.

I keep walking anyway —

not because I’m brave,

but because gravity doesn’t ask for courage.

_______

Somewhere beneath the concrete and clay,

the bedrock remembers

every step that brought me here —

the roads I turned from,

the roads that turned from me.

_______

And here I am —

toes on the lip of momentum,

heart pressed against the ribs of the unknown,

watching the horizon bow toward me.

_______

This is the tilt.

This is the drop.

And whether I leap or stumble,

whether I rise or break —

I am already moving forward.

_______***

This poem was created in response to the “The Road Drops Here” prompt.

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