What is the point of this adrenaline
if not to catch a falling baby,
escape from a lion or revive a drowning man?
Where can all of this feeling go? I want a place for it.
A drawer, a box, a shelf, a treasure chest, the trunk of a car
maybe an large envelope to mail it far away.
Away from me. Where I am not the one.
Draw another name from the hat, surely she is stronger.
How am I to hold this prickling, burning weight,
vibrational surge, flaming fingertips?
Pressure builds until this little teapot
blows her steam.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017